EUROPE 


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RUSSELX.  RlCIIfflDSON 


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EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/europefrommotorcOOrichiala 


Copyright  by  Underw*»«»d  &  Dnderwood 


The  approach  to  the  Stelvio  pass        Page  j6 


EUROPE 


FROM  A 


MOTOR   CAR 


By 

RUSSELL  RICHARDSON 


RAND  McNALLY  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1914 
By  Rand,  McNally  &  Company 


Chicago 


To 
My  Mother 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface 9 

I    Berlin  to  Marienbad 11 

II     Marienbad  to  Trafoi 24 

III  Crossing  the  Stelvio  into  Italy 36 

IV  A  Visit  to  Lyons 65 

V    Chambery  to  Nimes 79 

VI    Nimes  to  Carcassonne 97 

VII    Carcassonne  to  Tarbes no 

VIII    Tarbes  to  Biarritz 122 

IX    A  Day  in  Spain 130 

X    Biarritz  to  Mont-de-Marsan 143 

XI     Mont-de-Marsan  to  Perigueux 159 

XII    Perigueux  to  Tours 172 

XIII  The  Chateaux  of  Touraine 182 

XIV  Orleans  to  Dieppe 197 

XV    Expenses  and  Suggestions 215 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  Approach  to  the  Stelvio  Pass       .      .       2 

A  French  Highway        n 

The  Brandenburger  ThoR 20 

Cutting  Across  the  Glacier 34 

Lake  Como,  Most  Beautiful  of  the  Italian 

Lakes 44 

Italian  Villas  on  Lake  Como      ....     48 

Above  the  Val  dAosta 54 

The  Rhone  at  Lyons 66 

Out  of  the  Silence  and  Gloom  ....  80 
The  Ancient  Roman  Theater  at  Orange  86 
Arc  de  Triomphe  at  Orange  ....  88 
The  Palace  of  the  Popes  at  Avignon  .  .  90 
The    Ruined    Bridge    of    St.    Benezet    at 

Avignon 92 

The  Maison  Carree  at  Nimes     ....     94 
The  Castle  and  Double  Line  of  Fortifi- 
cations at  Carcassonne 102 

The  Walled  City  of  Carcassonne  .  .  .104 
The  Pyrenees  Were  in  Sight     .     .     .     .112 

Ice  Peaks  of  the  Pyrenees 116 

The  Grande  Plage  at  Biarritz  .  .  .  .126 
The  Ox-Carts  Were  Curious  Creations    .   134 

The  Death  Stroke 140 

A  Familiar  Village   Scene   in   Provincial 
France 156 

7 


8  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A  Miracle  of  Gothic  Splendor  .  .  .  .162 
A  Convenient  Way  to  Carry  Bread  .  .176 
The  Road  Swept  Us  Along  the  Bank  of 

the  Loire 180 

The   Chateau   of  Loches   Behind   Its   Im- 
posing Entrance 186 

The  Chateau  of  Chenonceaux  .  .  .  .190 
The  Chateau  of  Amboise  on  the  Loire  .  194 
The  Wheat  Fields  of  Normandy  .  .  .  198 
The  Gothic  Cathedral  at  Chartres     .     .  200 

The  Seine  at  Rouen 208 

Where  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  Burned  at  the 

Stake 212 


PREFACE 

THE  following  pages  have  not  been  written 
to  supplement  the  thousands  of  guide 
books  about  Europe.  Long,  technical  descrip- 
tions have  been  avoided.  An  endeavor  has  been 
made,  rather,  to  give  our  personal  impressions 
of  the  Old  World  from  a  motor  car.  Our 
itinerary  overlooked  the  larger  cities  whose 
contents  have  been  so  well  inventoried  by 
Baedeker.  The  life  of  the  peasantry,  the  small 
towns  seldom  visited  by  American  tourists, 
quaint  villages  unapproached  by  any  railroad, 
the  superb  roads  and  views  of  the  Tyrol,  the 
crossing  of  the  Alps  over  the  snow-crowned 
Stelvio  into  Italy,  the  flight  through  northern 
Italy  to  Como,  loveliest  of  the  Italian  lakes — 
such  unique  experiences  amid  beautiful  scenery 
appealed  to  us  more  than  the  attractions  of 
the  crowded  metropolis.  We  were  out  for  a 
motor  ramble  instead  of  a  sight-seeing  tour. 
Our  route  did  not  follow  entirely  the  familiar 
highways  of  tourist  traffic.  From  the  summit 
of  the  Alps  we  were  to  see,  far  below  us,  the 
valleys  of  picturesque  Savoy.  Then  came  the 
long,  thrilling  descent  into  France  through 
Provence,  that  treasure  land  of  Roman  antiq- 
uity, through  the  Pyrenees,  lifting  their  huge 


io  PREFACE 

barriers  between  France  and  Spain,  to  Biarritz 
on  the  Atlantic.  Spain  was  before  us,  the 
pastoral  beauties  of  Limousin  and  Perigord, 
the  chateaux  of  Touraine,  and  the  cathedrals 
of  Normandy. 

An  important  part  of  our  equipment  was  the 
Midwlin  Guide,  which,  with  its  convenient 
arrangement  and  wealth  of  useful  information 
about  hotels  and  roads,  rendered  invaluable 
aid.  Its  maps  were  so  clear  that  it  was  seldom 
necessary  to  retrace  our  path.  By  means  of 
them  we  planned  our  route  and  found  our  way 
through  the  different  countries. 

The  writer  wishes  to  thank  Michelin  &  Co. 
of  Paris,  and  Dr.  Lehmann  of  the  Benz  Com- 
pany in  Mannheim,  Germany,  for  their  assist- 
ance and  advice.  The  files  of  the  London  Daily 
Mail  contributed  helpful  suggestions.  Obliga- 
tion is  also  "expressed  to  Mr.  Charles  Netcher, 
whose  good  judgment  and  motormanship  were 
indispensable  to  the  success  of  the  trip. 

Russell  Richardson. 


I.y  Umlerwtwxl  4  ITnilr 


A   French  highway  Page  178 


EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

CHAPTER  I 

BERLIN   TO   MARIENBAD 

T3EF0RE  us  was  the  long  stretch  of  the 
*-^  Potsdamer  Strasse  bathed  in  the  sunshine 
of  a  July  morning.  Slowly  the  speedometer 
began  to  devour  the  kilometers  of  the  Kaiser's 
imperial  city,  and  the  low  music  of  the  siren 
seemed  like  a  song  of  rejoicing  that  we  were  at 
last  starting  on  our  quest  of  motor  experiences 
along  the  highways  of  Europe.  The  exhilara- 
tion of  the  moment  called  for  speed,  a  leap- 
ing burst  of  it,  but  a  Berlin  street  is  unfortu- 
nately no  place  for  speeding.  Numerous 
helmeted  policemen,  vigilant  guardians  of  Ger- 
man speed  laws,  were  sufficient  reminders  that 
the  way  of  the  motor  transgressor  would  be 
paved  with  heavy  fines. 

These  policemen  looked  like  soldiers.  In 
Berlin  one  is  always  surrounded  by  a  mili- 
tary atmosphere.  The  city  is  the  product 
and  the  producer  of  this  martial  spirit.  The 
Prussian   wars   are   written   so  completely  in 


i2         EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR  CAR 

pages  of  bronze  and  marble,  one  has  the 
impression  of  being  among  people  who  are  on 
the  verge  of  war  and  prepared  for  it.  Even 
as  we  glided  along,  a  huge  Zeppelin  air  ship 
hovered  above  us,  one  of  those  ill-fated  war 
machines  which  have  so  often  met  destruction. 

A  little  farther  on,  there  was  a  stirring  sound 
of  military  music,  and  our  way  was  intercepted 
by  a  marching  regiment.  It  was  fully  ten  min- 
utes before  the  last  soldier  passed.  Such  scenes 
are  common  in  the  capital  of  a  country 
bounded  on  two  frontiers  by  powerful  nations, 
and  dependent  for  its  very  existence  upon  the 
maintenance  of  a  large  standing  army. 

Gradually  the  music  grew  fainter,  the  warn- 
ings of  countless  "verbotens"  became  less  fre- 
quent. Soon  we  were  riding  through  the 
Prussian  country,  pleasantly  pastoral  and 
interspersed  by  red-roofed  villages.  Every- 
where were  barracks  and  soldiers,  and  each 
small  community  was  throbbing  with  indus- 
trial life.  This  was  prosaic,  military,  modern 
Germany;  that  is,  it  might  have  seemed 
prosaic  had  we  not  seen  it  from  a  motor  car. 
There    is   a   quality    of    romance    about    all 


BERLIN   TO   MARIENBAD  13 

motoring  in  Europe.  It  is  fascinating  to  appear 
unexpectedly  among  a  people  in  the  midst  of 
their  everyday  activities,  to  see  them  as  they 
really  are,  to  flash  for  a  brief  moment  upon  the 
horizon  of  their  local  life,  and  then  to  whirl  on 
to  other  scenes.  Such  a  trip  is  never  monot- 
onous. There  is  magic  in  this  song  of  the  swift 
kilometers. 

The  tourist,  by  train  or  on  foot,  is  over- 
whelmed by  details.  He  sees  small  cross- 
sections  of  life.  But  the  motorist,  of  all 
travelers,  can  see  larger  outlines.  For  him  a 
thousand  details  merge  to  form  a  unit  which  he 
can  grasp;  to  paint  a  picture  of  clear-cut, 
dominating  impressions  and  filled  with  life-long 
memories.  Even  "the  best  traveler1  on  foot 
■ — Barrow  or  Stevenson — can  enjoy  himself,  or 
interest  others,  only  by  his  impressions  of  the 
insistent  details  of  each  trudged  mile.  The 
motorist  alone  can  perform  the  great  deduction 
of  travel.  His  privilege  is  to  see  the  surface 
of  his  planet  and  the  activities  of  his  fellow- 
men    unroll     in    impressive    continuity.     He 

iFrom  "The  Alpine  Road  of  France,"  by  Sir  Henry  Nor- 
man, M.  P.,  in  Scribner's  Magazine  for  February,  1914. 


i4       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

moves  along  the  vital  lines  of  cause  and  effect. 
He  sees  how  the  earth  has  imposed  character 
and  habits  upon  her  inhabitants." 

When  one  has  seen  Europe  from  a  motor  car, 
the  geography  of  the  Old  World  ceases  to  be  a 
mass  of  hazy  facts  set  off  by  indefinite  boun- 
daries. We  had  vaguely  thought  of  the  Alps 
as  being  in  Switzerland.  After  crossing  them 
twice,  these  mountain  barriers,  extending  from 
Vienna  to  the  Mediterranean,  through  Austria, 
Switzerland,  Italy,  and  France,  were  to  have  a 
new  meaning.  Most  of  us  would  probably  con- 
fuse the  old  provinces  of  France  with  the 
departments  which  correspond  roughly  to  our 
states.  But  Normandy,  Brittany,  and  Prov- 
ence have  no  more  geographical  significance 
to-day  than  "Mason  and  Dixon's  Line,"  which 
once  served  as  a  boundary  between  North  and 
South.  Places  which  had  previously  existed 
for  us,  in  cold  print,  were  to  glow  with  life  and 
color,  and  were  in  turn  to  tell  their  romantic 
story.  Now,  when  we  look  at  our  map  of 
France,  we  can  see  "the  great  central  wheat 
plain ;  the  broad  wine  belt ;  the  western  landes; 
the  eastern  pine  slopes,  the  welter  of  history 


BERLIN  TO   MARIENBAD  15 

in  Touraine  and  Anjou;  dear,  yellow,  dusty, 
windswept,  singing,  dancing,  Provence;  the 
southward  climatic  procession  of  buckwheat, 
wheat,  vine,  olive,  palm,  and  orange  tree."1 

Our  chronicle  of  this  first  day  of  motoring  in- 
cludes a  brief  glimpse  of  Wittenberg,  where 
Luther  burned  the  Papal  Bull  and  thus  kindled 
the  flame  of  the  Reformation .  After  Wittenberg 
came  Leipzig,  famed  as  the  home  of  immortal 
Baedeker.  One  cannot  ride  far  in  Germany 
without  encountering  a  city  counting  its  pop- 
ulation by  the  hundred  thousand.  This  wealth 
of  population  explains  in  part  how  Prussia, 
only  a  generation  ago  so  agricultural,  could 
have  changed  so  quickly  into  a  vast  workshop ; 
there  has  always  been  a  plentiful  supply  of  labor. 

We  stopped  for  the  night  at  Chemnitz,  a 
smoky  city  and  with  a  dreary  looking  hotel 
showing  in  prominent  letters  the  unpleasant 
name  of  "Hotel  zur  Stadt  Gotha."  The  next 
morning  we  ran  the  easy  gauntlet  of  custom- 
house formalities  at  Gottesgab,  and  crossed  the 
Austrian  frontier  into  Bohemia,  that  land  of 


iFrom  "  The  Alpine  Road  of  France,"  by  Sir  Henry  Nor- 
man, M.  P.,  in  Scribner's  Magazine  for  February,  1914. 


16       EUROPE  FROM   A   MOTOR   CAR 

shadows  and  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  the  Austrian 
government  where  the  gay  colors  of  peasant 
dress  hardly  conceal  the  evidences  of  poverty 
and  squalid  misery,  and  where  hunger  appears 
to  be  driving  out  plenty.  It  is  a  country  of 
peasants.  There  are  millions  of  them,  back  in 
the  Middle  Ages  as  to  their  agricultural  methods, 
unable  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  harsh,  pro- 
gressive realities  of  the  present,  and  careless 
whether  the  abundant  meal  of  to-morrow  will 
make  up  for  the  meager  repast  of  to-day. 

If  you  wish  to  see  real  misery,  and  to  under- 
stand why  the  Bohemians  emigrate  in  such 
great  numbers  to  the  United  States,  then  take 
a  motor  trip  through  this  most  discontented 
and  unhappy  of  all  the  Austrian  provinces. 
Here  amid  picturesque  and  beautiful  scenery 
one  finds  the  rural  slums  of  Europe.  The  small 
farm  hamlets  look  forlorn  and  unkempt,  the 
barnyards  disorderly,  the  towns  dirty  and 
neglected,  the  people  as  if  they  were  both  the 
cause  and  effect  of  these  conditions.  It  is  a 
common  sight  of  the  road  to  see  women 
harnessed  with  dogs  or  oxen.  Here  even 
wooden  shoes  would  be  something  of  a  luxury. 


BERLIN   TO   MARIENBAD  17 

There  is  something  fascinating  about  explor- 
ing these  neglected  corners  of  Europe  in  a 
motor  car.  The  dress  of  the  peasants  is  gay 
even  though  ragged,  their  life  picturesque  even 
in  its  poverty.  One  finds  lights  as  well  as 
shadows  in  the  picture.  Nature  has  softened 
the  harsh  lines  of  peasant  life  with  dreamy, 
misty  horizons,  with  pine-clad  hills  and  dashing 
brooks,  with  pleasant  vistas  of  distant  moun- 
tains. 

On  reaching  Carlsbad  about  noon  we  found 
the  season  of  this  fashionable  watering  place  at 
its  height.  Crowds  of  visitors  were  promenad- 
ing in  the  street,  returning  from  the  baths  and 
springs  or  trying  to  stimulate  jaded  appetites 
by  a  few  breaths  of  the  fine  invigorating  air. 
The  place  is  really  beautiful  with  its  fine  setting 
of  Bohemian  mountains. 

Friends  were  expecting  us  in  Marienbad,  so 
we  resumed  our  journey  early  in  the  afternoon. 
This  stretch  of  forty  miles  lay  through  the 
loveliest  part  of  Bohemia.  Such  depths  of  blue 
atmosphere  melting  into  the  green  of  pine 
forests ! 

The  forestry  system  of  Bohemia  is  something 


18   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

to  admire  and  to  study.  For  generations, 
governmental  inspection  has  been  tireless  in  its 
efforts  to  improve  and  develop  the  forests. 
There  are  many  large  estates  which  have  their 
own  private  foresters;  no  opportunity  for  tree 
planting  is  neglected.  On  the  smaller  farms,  if 
the  soil  is  not  adapted  to  the  raising  of  fruits 
and  vegetables,  the  state  tells  the  farmer  what 
trees  will  flourish  best  in  that  kind  of  soil. 
Thus  no  acre  is  wasted.  Twice  a  year  the 
official  inspector  decides  what  trees  may  be  cut. 
If,  during  the  year,  some  farmer  wishes  lumber, 
it  is  the  inspector  who  decides  what  trees,  if 
any,  may  be  cut.  No  sooner  has  the  tree  fallen 
than  a  fresh  sappling  takes  its  place.  The  trees 
are  planted  in  regular  rows.  There  is  no 
crowding.  In  such  a  land,  forestry  is  a  dis- 
tinguished profession. 

For  some  distance  the  valley  narrowed  almost 
to  a  canon.  Then  wider  views  opened,  until 
from  a  wooded  ridge  we  saw  below  us  in  the 
valley  the  village  of  Marienbad.  Nature  was 
good  to  her  children  when  she  fashioned  this 
rare  resort,  lying  so  white  and  clean  in  its  green 
cradle  of  high  pine-covered  hills. 


BERLIN  TO  MARIENBAD  19 

Much  too  briefly  must  we  give  our  impres- 
sions of  life  at  a  Bohemian  watering  place. 
Every  one  lives  out  of  doors.  The  many  villas 
are  generously  provided  with  balconies  to  catch 
the  sunshine  and  pine  breezes.  Unlike  most 
health  resorts,  the  atmosphere  of  the  sick  room 
is  absent.  Few  invalids  are  to  be  seen.  Most 
of  the  Kurgaste  come  here  for  the  purpose  of 
reducing  their  weight.  Their  chief  rule  of  life 
is  to  eat  little  and  exercise  much.  The  numer- 
ous tennis  courts  are  constantly  filled.  The 
mountains  invite  to  long  walks.  There  are  hot 
baths,  steam  baths,  mud  baths,  and  baths  that 
would  probably  have  been  new  even  to  the  bath- 
loving  Romans.  The  gymnasia  are  elaborately 
equipped  with  exercising  apparatus.  If  one 
wishes  to  watch  another  phase  of  this  struggle 
against  excessive  avoirdupois,  he  should  rise  at 
a  dim  gray  hour  and  walk  over  to  the  Prome- 
nade. People  of  every  nationality  crowd  about 
the  mineral  springs  and  then,  with  their  glasses 
well  filled,  they  take  their  places  in  the  cosmo- 
politan throng  which  moves  slowly  up  and 
down  the  long  Promenade.  One  hears  the 
confused  murmuring  of  many  voices  in  many 


20       EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR  CAR 

languages,  the  favorite  topics  of  this  linguistic 
Babel  relating  to  various  ailments  and  the 
weight-reducing  qualities  of  different  mineral 
waters.  A  less  corpulent  arrival  is  looked  upon 
with  envy.  Slowly  the  glasses  are  emptied, 
and  then  again  filled.  It  is  customary  to  walk 
up  and  down  for  an  hour,  while  drinking  two 
glasses  of  mineral  water.  With  each  swallow 
the  Kurgaste  appear  to  be  imbibing  the  hopes 
of  their  diminishing  avoirdupois.  The  Ger- 
mans are  in  the  majority.  They  are  always 
desperately  conscientious  in  their  endeavor  to 
meet  all  the  requirements  of  this  simple  but 
exacting  life,  possibly  because  they  realize  that 
a  long  devotion  to  beer  and  sandwiches  is  not 
the  best  means  to  preserve  the  youthful  figure. 
Near  the  Promenade  are  weighing  shops.  A 
place  like  Marienbad  naturally  includes  among 
its  habitues  some  who  could  easily  qualify  for 
the  monstrosity  class.  We  remember  one 
Egyptian  phenomenon  of  enormous  proportions 
who  had  to  have  his  own  private  scales. 

After  the  hour  at  the  spring  comes  a  strenu- 
ous half-hour  climb  to  a  hilltop  restaurant 
where  breakfast  is  served.     How  inviting  those 


BERLIN   TO   MARIENBAD  21 

repasts  in  the  open  air !  The  coffee  is  as  good 
as  can  be  found  anywhere  in  Europe,  and  the 
scrambled  eggs  and  Schinken  aus  Prague  are 
served  by  pretty  Bohemian  waitresses  arrayed 
in  all  the  colors  of  their  native  costumes.  At 
these  hilltop  restaurants  orchestra  music  is 
always  an  attractive  feature  of  the  breakfast. 

One  is  never  sure  what  distinguished  states- 
men or  prince  of  royal  blood  is  sitting  near  by. 
While  we  were  breakfasting  one  morning  a 
gentleman  dressed  in  an  ordinary  business  suit 
approached  and  sat  alone  at  a  table  close  at 
hand.  We  learned  later  that  he  was  the  Prime 
Minister  of  Russia. 

The  activities  and  diversions  of  the  day 
would  be  incomplete  without  a  stroll  after 
dinner  down  the  pleasant  Kaiserstrasse.  At 
this  evening  hour  all  the  visitors  to  Marienbad 
pass  in  leisurely  review.  The  Austrian  officers, 
erect  and  soldierly,  make  quite  a  striking  ap- 
pearance. Our  attention  was  also  attracted  to 
the  monks  of  Tepl,  with  their  long  black  cloaks 
and  broad-brimmed  hats.  They  are  the  own- 
ers of  Marienbad,  and  live  in  a  monastery 
situated  a  few  miles  from  the  village.     About 


2  2        EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR   CAR 

two  centuries  ago  the  monks  of  Tepl  began  to 
realize  the  commercial  possibilities  of  their 
springs.  Forests  were  cut  away;  streets  were 
laid;  marshes  blossomed  into  gardens  and 
green  lawns;  splendid  buildings  were  erected 
for  patrons  who  wished  to  take  the  various 
baths,  and  to-day  Marienbad  is  a  village  of 
hotels  and  villas.  Last  year  there  were  about 
forty  thousand  visitors.  The  monks  whom  we 
saw  looked  sleek  and  well-fed.  They  lead  an 
easy  life,  hunting,  fishing,  and  managing  their 
lucrative  property.  The  monastic  vow  of 
poverty  has  probably  long  since  ceased  to 
mean  much  of  a  hardship. 

This  fact  of  a  modern  village  being  controlled 
by  a  wealthy  religious  organization  dating  as  far 
back  as  1133  is  most  unique.  It  is  doubtful  if 
a  parallel  case  can  be  found  anywhere.  The 
town  shows  in  many  ways  the  influence  of  its 
monastic  administration.  Licensed  gambling 
halls,  which  are  so  prevalent  in  all  of  the  French 
watering  places,  do  not  exist  here.  There  is  no 
night  life.  After  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  the 
streets  begin  to  look  deserted.  Amusement 
places  of  doubtful  character  have  thus  far  found 


BERLIN   TO   MARIENBAD  23 

no  footing  in  this  simple  village  life.  Consider- 
ing the  thousands  of  idle  and  pleasure-loving 
Europeans  who  throng  every  year  to  Marien- 
bad,  it  seems  remarkable  that  the  general  tone 
of  the  place  should  have  been  kept  so  high. 


CHAPTER  II 

MARIENBAD   TO   TRAFOI 

"Cj^VEN  a  congenial  environment  like  that  of 
Marienbad  began  to  lack  interest  when 
we  looked  at  our  motor  itinerary  and  saw 
awaiting  us  such  rich  experiences  as  climbing 
above  the  clouds  over  the  snowbound  Stelvio, 
or  the  sight  of  Carcassonne,  tower-girt  and 
formidable  behind  feudal  walls.  The  call  of 
the  white  road  was  irresistible  when  it  led 
through  the  purple  valleys  of  the  Pyrenees  to 
beautiful  Biarritz  on  the  Atlantic  and  to  San 
Sebastian  in  Spain,  where  the  Spanish  king  and 
queen  hold  summer  court.  The  perfect  day  of 
blue  skies  added  its  persuasive  voice. 

We  were  again  on  the  road.  The  villas  of 
Marienbad  withdrew  behind  the  mountains, 
and  we  settled  down  to  the  complete  enjoyment 
of  the  ride  through  Bohemia  and  southern  Ger- 
many to  Munich.  On  either  side  were  quaint 
scenes  of  Bohemian  life.  Every  little  farm 
hamlet  had  its  pond  of  geese,  with  a  goose  girl 
tending  her  flocks.     One  of  them  threw  us  a 

24 


MARIENBAD   TO  TRAFOI  25 

flower.  Her  action  meant  more  to  us  than  she 
thought ;  it  was  a  happy  omen  for  the  rest  of  the 
trip.  Peasant  women  were  toiling  barefooted 
in  the  fields,  or  trudging  along  the  road,  bend- 
ing under  heavy  burdens  of  wood.  This  human 
element  in  the  scene  was  impressive.  Here,  as 
everywhere,  the  great  drama  of  human  life  was 
being  played.  But  the  role  of  the  actors  was 
such  a  humble  and  pathetic  one,  so  much  of  the 
land  was  given  over  to  unfruitful  fields,  half 
cleared  of  stumps!  There  were  no  such  pic- 
tures of  content  and  prosperity  as  one  finds 
everywhere  in  Germany  and  Holland.  The 
houses  were  scarcely  more  than  huts. 

We  halted  in  some  of  the  towns  to  take  a  first 
lesson  in  the  Czeck  or  Bohemian  dialect.  The 
store  signs  were  mysterious,  with  their  hiero- 
glyphics. One  shop  contained  sewing  ma- 
chines, and  the  word  "Singowiski"  above  the 
door  hinted  that  this  might  be  the  Bohemian 
translation  of  Singer  sewing  machines.  Road 
signs  were  not  always  visible,  and  less  often 
intelligible.  Then  we  were  obliged  to  ask  the 
way.  If  the  source  of  our  information  was  a 
town    official   he    usually    spoke   in    German, 


26        EUROPE  FROM   A   MOTOR   CAR 

otherwise  in  Bohemian,  an  answer  which  did 
not  relieve  us  of  our  uncertainty. 

The  German  frontier  was  reached  about 
noon.  Our  Triptyque  received  the  customary 
official  stamping  at  the  Zoll-amt.  To  our  great 
relief,  no  questions  were  asked  about  Pichner 
Torte,  a  very  delicious  kind  of  cake  made  only 
in  Austria,  and  so  good  that  tourists  always  lay 
in  ample  supplies.  Such  articles  as  a  rule  are 
heavily  taxed  at  the  Austrian  frontier. 

Just  at  this  moment  Looloo,  our  French  bull 
terrier,  became  sick.  The  shock  of  coming  so 
suddenly  into  German  territory  was  probably 
too  much  for  her  sensitive  French  temperament, 
but  she  soon  revived  after  eating  a  piece  of 
French  dog  biscuit.  We  lunched  at  a  Gasthaus 
in  the  small  town  of  Furth  im  Walde.  The  first 
word  on  the  wall  which  caught  our  attention 
was  " Ausstellung."  That  was  enough  to  make 
us  feel  that  we  were  once  more  in  the  Father- 
land. The  Germans  seem  to  be  always  holding 
or  advertising  exhibitions  and  fairs.  " Ausstel- 
lung"  and  "Practisch"  need  have  no  immediate 
fear  of  losing  their  place  in  the  vocabulary  of 
the  average  German.     There  was  no  doubt  of 


MARIENBAD  TO  TRAFOI  27 

our  being  in  Germany.  We  would  have  known 
it  from  the  trim,  clean  farms.  Order  and  thrift 
were  in  evidence,  every  stick  of  every  wood  pile 
in  place — all  such  a  contrast  to  Bohemian 
untidiness. 

Once  more  in  the  land  of  the  Kaiser,  and 
motoring  through  picturesque  Bavaria,  slow 
changing  and  old-fashioned,  the  mediaeval  part 
of  modern  Germany,  a  region  of  small  towns 
and  peasant  farms.  We  were  often  delayed  to 
pay  the  Zoll  of  a  few  pfennigs.  The  impost 
was  not  onerous,  but  it  was  inconvenient  to  stop 
so  often.  Frequently  a  little  girl  or  small  boy 
would  come  out  to  collect  our  pfennigs,  and 
would  hold  up  flowers  for  us  to  purchase.  On 
one  occasion  we  saw  an  aged  collector  of  tolls 
apparently  overburdened  by  official  cares,  his 
head  sunk  in  slumber,  and  a  large  beer  stein  on 
a  table  near  him.  The  picture  was  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  slow-moving  life  around  us ! 

Our  motor  flight  through  this  fascinating 
region  of  Germany  afforded  opportunity  to 
observe  how  the  different  towns  had  striven  for 
a  style  of  architecture  original  and  unique. 
The  houses  had  much  warmth  of  color,  much 


28       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR   CAR 

more  than  one  would  see  in  northern  Germany. 
But  then  Bavaria  is  of  course  closer  to  Italy,  and 
to  the  vivid  landscapes,  the  bright  sunny  skies 
of  the  southland,  and  this  difference  in  climate 
is  naturally  reflected  in  the  life  of  the  people. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  the  great  artists  of 
Germany  should  have  come  from  the  south. 

We  remember  vividly  the  town  of  Straubing, 
where  we  stopped  to  buy  gasoline.  In  the 
middle  of  the  street  an  old-fashioned  clock 
tower  rose  above  the  red-tiled  roofs  and  gabled 
houses.  Many  of  the  homes  had*  attractive 
window  gardens;  red  and  blue  were  the  pre- 
vailing colors.  No  one  was  in  a  hurry;  life 
moved  with  a  leisurely  swing.  Baedeker  barely 
mentions  Straubing,  but  we  doubt  if  Nurnberg 
or  Munich  could  show  a  street  more  typically 
south  German  or  better  worth  the  artist's  brush. 

At  this  point  should  be  mentioned  the  happy 
discovery  of  the  lunch  box  which  thoughtful 
friends  had  stowed  away  with  the  baggage. 
There  had  been  so  much  to  attract  our  atten- 
tion that  we  had  overlooked  it.  Our  motor 
appetites  were  equal  to  the  occasion;  fruit, 
cakes,  and  cold  chicken  sandwiches  received  no 


MARIENBAD  TO  TRAFOI  29 

mercy.  It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  scenery 
and  sandwiches  went  well  together,  especially 
such  scenery  and  such  sandwiches. 

The  landscapes  were  not  more  varied  than 
the  weather.  At  times  the  road  was  wet  where 
a  shower  had  just  preceded  us.  All  day  the 
sunshine  had  brightened  and  faded.  Now  we 
noticed  a  battalion  of  dark  clouds  massing 
heavily  above  us;  little  by  little  the  blue  sky 
surrendered  to  the  storm  king;  the  artillery  of 
heaven  thundered  into  action.  It  was  worth  a 
wetting  to  see  the  storm  sweep  toward  us  and 
then  fade  into  the  gorgeous  sunset  which  closed 
the  day.  The  church  spires  of  Munich  were 
luminous  in  the  golden  light.  Swiftly  we  sped 
down  the  long,  straight  road  into  the  city. 
When  we  stopped  before  the  comfortable  Regina 
Palast  Hotel  our  speedometer  registered  one 
hundred  and  eighty-five  miles,  the  longest  run 
of  the  trip.  The  country  ahead  of  us  was  to 
prove  too  interesting  for  any  attempt  at  long- 
distance records. 

The  evening  gave  a  pleasant  glimpse  of 
Bavarian  life,  of  its  good  cheer  and  warm  spirit 
of  hospitality,  so  in  contrast  with  the  colder 


3o       EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR  CAR 

social  customs  of  the  north.  The  Berliner  is 
reserved,  exclusive.  When  he  enters  a  cafe 
he  would  like,  if  possible,  a  table  where  he  can 
sit  alone.  But  Bavarian  sociability  is  all- 
pervasive.  The  cafe  where  we  passed  an  hour 
or  so  was  filled  with  it.  Tyrolean  warblers  in 
native  costume  occupied  the  stage  fashioned  to 
portray  a  bit  of  south  German  landscape.  Song 
books  were  handed  us.  Every  one  joined  in 
singing  the  rollicking  folk  songs.  Of  course  the 
evening  would  have  been  incomplete  without  a 
visit  to  the  famous  Brauerei  and  a  cooling 
sample  of  Miinchner  Brau. 

After  a  couple  of  days  in  Munich  we  departed 
for  Landeck,  in  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  a  ride  of  one 
hundred  and  eighty-two  kilometers.  For  some 
distance  our  course  was  the  same  as  the  route  to 
Ober-Ammergau.  Lunch  at  a  wayside  inn  in- 
cluded Gdnsebraten,  which  can  only  be  described 
as  "ausgezeichnet."  Bright  Tyrolese  landscapes 
flew  by.  It  was  glorious  running,  the  air 
buoyant  with  the  breath  of  the  mountains, 
which  rose  in  a  jagged,  majestic  profile  above 
little  villages  where  the  houses  were  painted 
with  queer  scenes  of  peasant  life. 


MARIENBAD  TO  TRAFOI  31 

At  Garmisch  we  were  in  the  heart  of  the 
Bavarian  Tyrol.  It  was  a  good  place  to  stop 
for  a  few  minutes  to  watch  the  people,  the 
women  almost  theatrical  in  the  gay  colors  of 
their  dress,  the  men  equally  gorgeous  with  their 
red  neckties,  green  hats  and  vests,  to  say 
nothing  of  green  leggings  which  left  knee  and 
ankle  bare.  Every  one  wore  the  feather. 
Garmisch  is  not  far  from  the  Austrian  frontier, 
so  we  purchased  five  liters  of  gasoline,  this 
necessary  article  being  much  more  expensive  in 
Austria  than  elsewhere  in  Europe.  Indeed,  on 
reaching  the  Zoll-amt  at  Griesen  we  found  that 
gasoline  had  jumped  from  forty-five  or  fifty 
pfennigs  to  a  kronen  a  liter,  an  increase  of  about 
eight  cents.  The  Austrian  officials  made  us 
pay  a  duty  of  ninety  heller  on  the  five  liters  of 
gasoline  which  we  carried  as  reserve.  They 
also  enriched  the  treasury  of  their  government 
by  a  duty  of  3.60  kronen  on  our  twelve  liters  of 
oil,  and  thoughtfully  suggested  that  we  purchase 
five  additional  liters  of  gasoline  at  the  Austrian 
rates.  In  view  of  our  purchase  in  Garmisch, 
this  invitation  was  declined.  Had  we  carried 
a  spare  wheel  and  covers,  they  would  have 


32        EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR   CAR 

requested  us  to  remove  them  and  would  have 
weighed  them  in  an  outhouse  opposite  the  Zoll- 
amt.  It  is  customary  to  charge  duty  on  tires 
if  the  equipment  be  above  a  certain  weight.  If 
one  carries  the  average  equipment,  there  is 
usually  no  trouble. 

Just  across  the  frontier  a  sign  post,  bearing 
the  word  "Rechtsfahren"  reminded  us  of  the 
change  in  the  rule  of  the  road.  The  scenery 
grew  wilder.  Nowhere  in  Europe  can  be  found 
a  more  perfect  country  for  the  motorist  than  the 
Austrian  Tyrol,  with  its  splendid  roads  and  in- 
comparable scenery.  Steadily  the  road  circled 
and  climbed.  It  was  the  sunset  hour.  Shadows 
were  creeping  out  of  deep  valleys;  a  snowy 
mountain  was  turning  to  a  lovely  rose  color 
in  the  crucible  of  the  afterglow.  Far  down 
among  the  shadows  we  spied  a  little  lake,  still 
and  black  under  the  overhanging  mountains. 

The  Post-Hotel  in  Landeck  was  surprisingly 
good.  It  is  located  right  on  the  river  Inn, 
which  rushes  noisily  through  the  middle  of  the 
town.  After  an  excellent  Abendessen  we  retired 
early,  and  were  not  long  in  yielding  to  the 
drowsy  roar  of  the  waters. 


MARIENBAD  TO  TRAFOI  33 

Breakfast  was  followed  by  an  animated  scene 
in  front  of  our  hotel.  Amid  a  medley  of  motor 
horns,  other  cars  were  also  departing.  As  we 
ascended  beyond  Landeck,  the  road  swung 
with  easy  grades  above  the  magnificent  gorge  of 
the  Hoch  Finstermunz  pass,  where  we  stopped 
for  a  picture.  The  ride  from  this  point  over 
the  Reschen-scheideck  pass  was  simply  inde- 
scribable. In  that  exhilarating  air,  one  seemed 
to  be  flying  instead  of  motoring.  We  plunged 
through  rocky  tunnels,  or  hesitated  as  the  road 
appeared  to  leap  off  into  the  abyss  or  the 
towering  rock  masses  seemed  to  sweep  forward 
as  if  to  bar  further  progress.  Then  would 
come  a  sharp  turn,  opening  up  a  new  sweep  of 
highway.  The  road  was  as  good  as  we  found 
anywhere  on  the  trip,  and  wide  enough  for  the 
motor  cars  that  occasionally  passed  us.  But 
accidents  could  easily  have  happened  at  the 
curves.  Sure  brakes  and  a  tireless  motor  horn 
are  invaluable  at  these  critical  moments. 

It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  at  Reschen  to  see  a 
cozy  villa  flying  the  American  flag,  and  to  dis- 
cover acquaintances  in  this  secluded  corner 
of  the  Old  World.      We  had  forgotten   that 


34        EUROPE  FROM   A   MOTOR   CAR 

buckwheat  cakes  could  be  so  good.  Our 
departure  was  accompanied  with  warnings 
about  the  difficulties  of  the  Stelvio,  which 
we  were  to  climb  the  next  day. 

After  being  shown  the  picture  of  this  most 
formidable  of  mountain  roads,  with  its  serpen- 
tine windings,  rising  mile  upon  mile,  and  finally 
disappearing  above  the  clouds,  we  wondered  if 
the  car  could  possibly  ascend  such  a  barrier, 
and  if  it  would  not  be  better  to  reach  Italy  by 
some  less  dangerous  route.  One  motorist  had 
attempted  the  feat  a  few  weeks  before,  and 
after  climbing  eight  thousand  feet  was  forced 
to  turn  back  on  account  of  deep  snowdrifts. 
Mention  was  also  made  of  a  particularly 
dangerous  curve  where  there  had  once  been  a 
fatal  accident.  These  reports  were  not  encour- 
aging, but  nevertheless  we  wanted  to  make  the 
attempt.  Every  one  who  motors  in  the  Aus- 
trian Tyrol  has  but  one  dream,  one  ambition — 
to  submit  his  skill  and  car  to  the  supreme  test 
of  scaling  the  Stelvio. 

From  Reschen  the  car  ran  along  a  pretty  lake, 
then  shot  down  a  long  grade  to  Mais  and  from 
there  wound  along  to  Neu  Spondinig,  where  we 


MARIENBAD  TO  TRAFOI  35 

stopped  for  a  few  minutes  for  tea  and  to 
exchange  motor  experiences  with  other  travel- 
ers, on  their  way  to  Landeck  over  the  same 
route  by  which  we  had  come. 

Leaving  Neu  Spondinig,  we  turned  sharply 
to  the  right  and  into  the  gloom  of  a  deep  gorge, 
crossing  the  bridges  of  the  impetuous  Trafoier 
Bach  and  climbing  for  several  kilometers  to 
Trafoi,  where  a  most  marvelous  view  burst  upon 
us.  Until  this  moment  the  high  walls  of  the 
gorge  had  shut  us  in,  but  now  the  road  suddenly 
opened  into  a  view  so  magnificent  as  to  seem 
almost  unreal.  We  were  directly  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Ortler,  with  its  twelve  thousand 
feet  of  rock  and  ice.  The  glittering  whiteness 
of  the  Madatsch  glacier  formed  with  its  ice 
floods  a  veritable  mer  de  glace.  The  scene 
was  so  wild,  the  impression  so  overwhelming, 
that  for  some  minutes  we  forgot  to  order  rooms 
for  the  night  at  the  fine  Trafoi  hotel. 


CHAPTER  III 

CROSSING   THE   STELVIO   INTO   ITALY 

T  T  was  before  seven  that  we  started  on  the  long 
climb.  An  early  start  is  important  when 
the  main  care  is  to  keep  the  engine  cool.  Cloud- 
less skies  favored  our  attempt.  Across  the 
gorge  we  saw  the  towering  Weiskugel,  its  snows 
turned  to  radiant  silver  while  the  valley  was 
still  in  shadow.  The  Ortler  was  transfigured, 
the  Madatsch  dazzling — almost  blinding  until 
our  eyes  had  grown  wonted  to  the  brilliant 
spectacle.  Slowly  the  long  grades  sank  behind 
us.  It  seemed  better  to  set  a  steady,  even 
though  slow  pace,  and  maintain  it  until  the 
summit  was  reached.  So  we  were  forced  to  use 
second  speed.  The  sides  of  the  engine  bonnet 
had  been  tied  back  to  give  the  engine  every 
possible  bit  of  cool  air.  From  "hairpin"  to 
"hairpin"  we  went,  these  curves  so  sharp  that 
at  first  it  seemed  impossible  to  make  them  with- 
out backing.  How  they  twisted  above  us  like 
the  loops  of  a  gigantic  lasso  flung  far  up  the 
mountain,   into   the  region  of  eternal   snow! 

36 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  37 

Imagine  it!  Forty-six  of  them!  Only  on  one 
turn  were  we  forced  to  back,  but  with  a  large, 
powerful  car  this  record  would  have  been  im- 
possible. Any  car  that  cannot  turn  easily  in 
a  fifty-foot  circle  would  better  find  some  other 
way  of  reaching  Italy.  It  is  not  pleasant  to 
back  up  when  the  edge  of  the  precipice  is  a 
matter  of  inches. 

When  the  Austrians  built  this  road,  a  century 
ago,  they  were  not  thinking  about  motor  cars. 
This  masterpiece  of  road  construction  was 
intended  for  armies,  not  for  automobiles.  The 
makers  of  those  curves,  cut  through  heights 
of  solid  rock,  never  anticipated  the  luxurious 
modes  of  modern  travel.  If  then  they  had 
only  foreseen  the  coming  of  motor  warfare,  how 
much  inconvenience  would  have  been  spared 
the  impetuous  motorist  who  to-day  attempts  to 
climb  the  Stelvio  in  a  long,  powerful  car  which 
cannot  quite  make  the  turns  without  backing. 
Surely,  a  few  feet  would  have  been  added  to 
those  tantalizing,  agonizing  curves.  How  little 
the  Austrians  realized  that  their  military  inva- 
sion would  be  followed  by  the  more  peaceful 
motor  invasion  of  our  day. 


38       EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR  CAR 

With  every  turn,  our  admiration  for  this  per- 
fect road  increased.  One  marvels  at  such 
matchless  feats  of  engineering,  at  such  gigantic 
obstacles  so  completely  overcome.  Here,  high 
retaining  walls  have  been  built  to  keep  the  road 
from  crumbling  away ;  there,  mountain  torrents 
that  would  have  washed  it  away  have  been 
diverted.  Turn  after  turn,  and  still  higher  to 
go!  Pine  woods  gave  way  to  stunted  shrub- 
bery, and  then  vegetation  ceased  altogether. 
We  were  above  the  clouds.  Nothing  but  the 
sun  above  us.  Snow  banks  appeared  on  either 
side;  we  could  put  out  our  hands  and  touch 
them.  Then  through  Franzenshohe,  formerly 
the  seat  of  the  Austrian  customhouse,  to  Ferdi- 
nandshohe  and  the  summit  of  Stelvio,  9,041 
feet  above  the  sea,  the  highest  point  of  motor 
or  carriage  travel  in  Europe. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  thrill,  the 
intoxication,  of  the  moment  as  we  stood  there 
watching  the  ice  fields  roll  away  in  great  waves, 
as  if  the  ocean,  in  a  moment  of  wild  upheaval, 
had  been  frozen.  Leaving  the  car  near  the 
little  Ferdinandshohe  hotel,  we  climbed  an 
elevation  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  to  the 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  39 

Hotel  Dreisprachenspitze,  where  one  stands  at 
the  apex  of  three  countries.  We  could  look 
down  into  Italy.  The  ice  floods  of  Switzerland 
swept  to  the  horizon;  a  hundred  snow  peaks 
flashed  in  the  morning  sun.  In  the  other 
direction  yawned  the  mighty  gorge  of  the 
Stelvio,  where  it  had  taken  us  two  hours  and 
seven  minutes  to  make  eight  miles.  The  wind 
was  of  razor  keenness. 

On  descending  to  arrange  customhouse  de- 
tails with  the  Austrian  officials,  we  found  the 
car  frozen  in  the  ice.  The  hot  steel-studded 
tires  had  melted  a  deep  groove,  and  were  now 
held  fast  in  the  prison  of  their  own  making. 
Even  on  the  Stelvio  we  had  not  expected  to  be 
frozen  fast  on  the  first  of  August.  In  vain  we 
opened  wide  the  throttle.  The  wheels  turned 
furiously  without  gaining  an  inch.  Austrian 
soldiers  came  to  our  rescue.  Half  a  dozen  of  us 
pushed  from  behind.  Two  American  tourists 
who  had  just  climbed  the  Stelvio  from  the 
Italian  side  in  a  Cadillac,  also  gave  generous 
aid.  With  the  additional  help  of  pickaxes  and 
quantities  of  sawdust,  the  car  finally  shook  off 
its  icy  fetters. 


4o       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Meanwhile  we  had  succeeded  in  snapping 
some  kodak  pictures  without  attracting  the 
notice  of  the  Austrian  officers.  The  Stelvio 
is  a  military  road,  various  forts  are  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  government  regulations  forbid 
the  taking  of  photographs.  In  securing  these 
pictures  we  ran  the  risk  of  heavier  penalties 
than  the  confiscation  of  the  camera  and  films. 

Fortune  did  not  smile  so  cheerfully  at  the 
Italian  dogana,  two  miles  farther  down. 
Hardly  had  we  touched  the  kodak  when  Italian 
soldiers  and  customhouse  officers  rushed  toward 
us.  We  were  not  sure  whether  we  would  be 
shot  on  the  spot  or  simply  left  to  languish  in  an 
Italian  prison.  One  of  the  officers  seized  the 
camera,  tied  a  red  string  around  it,  and  sealed 
it.  Observing  that  our  ignorance  of  military 
regulations  was  fully  equal  to  our  ignorance  of 
Italian,  he  instructed  us  in  French  not  to  open 
the  camera  until  we  were  beyond  Tirano, 
seventy  miles  away,  the  frontier  town  of  the 
military  zone. 

During  the  ascent  the  engine  bore  the  chief 
strain.  It  had  worked  heroically  without  once 
faltering.     Now,  upon  the  long  down  grades  of 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  41 

the  Italian  slope,  we  were  forced  to  rely  upon 
the  brakes.  The  road  descended  with  a  con- 
tinuous and  fairly  steep  gradient  for  almost 
fourteen  miles.  It  was  dangerous,  difficult 
work.  We  not  only  had  to  make  the  turns, 
which  were  just  as  sharp  as  on  the  Austrian  side, 
but  it  was  necessary  to  watch  the  straining 
brakes,  releasing  them  when  the  grade  per- 
mitted and  alternating  the  emergency  brake 
with  compression.  This  was  a  feat  demanding 
all  the  qualities  of  motormanship.  Coolness 
and  good  judgment  were  indispensable  at  every 
curve  of  the  descent.  The  road  turned  icy 
corners  and  edged  along  precipitous  cliffs.  If 
the  brakes  had  refused  to  work,  it  would  have 
been  fatal;  the  downward  plunge  of  the  car 
would  have  been  beyond  control  in  a  few  sec- 
onds. But  at  that  moment  we  were  not  think- 
ing of  danger.  The  thrill  of  the  descent,  the 
feeling  of  flying  down  from  a  great  height,  the 
ice  peaks  that  rose  higher  above  us,  the  stu- 
pendous chasm  that  at  every  curve  opened 
newer  and  more  savage  depths — these  were  all 
a  part  of  our  exhilarating  experience. 

We  were  coasting  much  of  the  time ;  gasoline 


42       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR   CAR 

and  ignition  had  been  cut  off.  Rocky  walls 
hurled  back  the  blast  of  our  motor  horn  as  we 
entered  the  slippery  winter  galleries  of  the 
Diroccamento  defile.  According  to  law,  no 
vehicle  may  enter  a  tunnel  if  it  is  occupied. 
Farther  down,  the  road  looped  like  the  coils  of 
a  great  serpent,  twisting,  disappearing,  only  to 
reappear  farther  down  as  a  faint  streak  of 
shimmering  roadway.  It  was  curious,  that 
sensation  of  falling,  always  sinking  lower  and 
yet  never  reaching  the  bottom.  One  more 
sweep  through  the  Braulio  Valley,  and  we 
stopped  for  lunch  before  the  luxurious  hotel 
Bagni-Nuovi,  that  popular  watering  place  for 
the  leisure  rich  of  Italy. 

Our  first  repast  upon  Italian  soil  very  fittingly 
included  macaroni  and  a  generous  bottiglia  divino 
italiano.  After  lunch  we  went  into  the  terraced 
garden,  fragrant  with  orange  trees,  overlooking 
dreamy  Bormio,  the  gateway  of  Italy.  The 
warm  sunshine  was  delightful  after  having  so 
recently  faced  the  icy  winds  of  the  Stelvio. 

Here  we  joined  an  American  party  from 
Detroit,  Mr.  and  Mrs. ,  who  were  chaperon- 
ing two  attractive  American  girls  on  a  motor 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  43 

trip  through  Italy  and  the  Tyrol.  They  had 
rented  an  Italian  car  in  Rome,  but  had  not 
found  the  investment  altogether  satisfactory, 
the  usual  story  of  rented  cars  in  Europe.  These 
chance  meetings  with  other  Americans  en  route 
were  among  the  pleasantest  features  of  our  trip. 
We  would  gladly  have  prolonged  the  visit,  had 
it  not  been  necessary  to  leave  early  in  the  after- 
noon if  we  were  to  reach  Menaggio  on  Lake 
Como  before  dark. 

After  descending  into  Bormio,  one  motors  for 
some  distance  between  high,  vine-clad  slopes,  and 
then  passes  through  two  or  three  villages,  typ- 
ically Italian  with  their  dilapidated  churches  and 
narrow,  cobbled  streets  swarming  with  dirty 
children,  many  of  whom  took  a  special  delight  in 
darting  across  our  track  just  as  we  were  passing. 

Northern  Italy  is  wonderfully  picturesque. 
The  long  defile  of  S.  Antonio  Morignone,  the 
antiquated  towns,  the  slender  campaniles  stand- 
ing out  so  clearly  in  the  misty,  dreamy  land- 
scape, the  plains  of  Lombardy  with  their 
scenes  of  peasant  life, — these  were  all  inter- 
esting details  to  be  duly  jotted  down  in  the 
notebook  of  memory. 


44       EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR  CAR 

It  was  haying  time.  The  farming  methods 
seemed  so  primitive;  everything  was  hand 
work.  We  did  not  see  a  single  labor-saving 
machine.  The  International  Harvester  Com- 
pany would  not  have  done  a  profitable  business 
here.  The  hayricks  were  very  small,  and 
even  these  were  often  lacking,  for  barefooted 
women  staggered  under  large  bundles  of  hay. 
Yet  these  backward  farmers  make  stalwart 
soldiers.  Sturdy  and  frugal,  they  are,  as  in 
France,  the  backbone  and  hope  of  the  nation. 
Europe  recognizes  the  fine  horsemanship  of 
the  Italian  cavalry.  The  "Corazzieri,"  or 
royal  bodyguard,  is  a  magnificent  corps.  It 
is  difficult  to  believe  that  most  of  these  men 
are  peasants. 

There  was  no  need  of  a  compass  to  learn 
that  we  were  going  west,  for  the  afternoon  sun 
shone  full  in  our  faces.  This  steady  glare, 
and  the  dazzling  reflection  from  the  white, 
dusty  road,  became  almost  unbearable.  It 
was  constantly  necessary  to  shield  the  eyes. 
There  was  no  winding  or  turning.  Often  we 
overtook  a  hayrick  occupying  most  of  the 
highway.     The    driver    was    usually    invisible 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underw 1 

Lake  Como,  most  beautiful  of  the  Italian  lakes     Page  45 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  45 

in  the  soft  depths  of  the  hay,  and  so  drowsy 
from  the  sun  or  liberal  drafts  of  chianti 
that  persistent  blasts  of  the  motor  horn  were 
necessary  to  attract  his  attention.  Tresenda 
was  passed,  and  then  Sondrio,  the  capital  of 
the  fertile  Val  Tellina,  noted  for  its  wines. 

The  sun  was  a  glowing  disk  upon  the  horizon 
when  we  reached  Colico  upon  Lake  Como, 
most  beautiful  of  the  Italian  lakes.  There 
was  a  crimson  light  on  the  water.  Red  sails 
drifted  lazily  toward  the  shore.  Across  the 
lake  the  high  mountains  rose  cone-like  to  a 
peak,  like  extinct  volcanoes.  From  a  distant 
bell  tower  floated  the  clear,  sweet  tones  of  the 
angelus.  Before  some  of  the  houses,  young 
Italians  were  playing  melodies  on  guitars. 
Twilight  was  falling,  that  wonderful  twilight 
so  full  of  color  and  feeling,  of  the  romance  and 
sentiment  of  northern  Italy.  After  several 
miles  along  the  shore,  through  these  fascinating 
scenes,  we  reached  Menaggio. 

The  evening  in  the  cool  lake  garden  of  the 
Grand  Hotel  was  a  refreshing  sequel  to  the 
afternoon's  hot  ride.  We  could  see  the  govern- 
ment searchlight  sweeping  its  bright  rays  in 


46       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

search  of  smugglers.  The  Italian  lakes  are 
partly  in  Italy  and  partly  in  Switzerland. 
Salt  and  tobacco  are  state  monopolies  in  Italy. 
The  poor  people  are  forbidden  even  to  pick 
up  from  the  docks  the  few  grains  of  salt  which 
may  have  fallen  during  the  loading  and  unload- 
ing of  ships.  Guards  patrol  the  beaches  to 
compel  those  who  use  the  sea  for  a  washtub, 
thoroughly  to  wring  the  salt  water  from  the 
clothes.  In  spite  of  all  the  government's 
precautions,  large  quantities  of  salt  and  tobacco 
are  smuggled  in  from  Switzerland  over  the 
Italian  lakes.  The  Italian  officials  are  poorly 
paid.  The  operator  of  the  searchlight  which 
we  saw  received  only  eight  dollars  a  month. 
The  small  salaries  breed  bribery  and  corrup- 
tion, and  it  often  happens,  therefore,  that  on 
a  dark  night  the  government  searchlight  fails 
to  discover  a  rowboat  that  goes  out  from  the 
Swiss  shore.  The  smugglers  escape  the  vigi- 
lance of  the  swift  revenue  cutters,  and  make 
a  successful  landing  on  the  Italian  side. 

The  next  day  was  so  hot  that  it  seemed  best 
to  pass  the  time  quietly  at  Menaggio,  in  our 
restful   retreat.    The   rooms   were   large   and 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  47 

airy,  and  open  to  the  fresh  lake  breezes.  The 
hotel  had  once  been  a  villa,  and  with  its  private 
garden  of  thick  plane  trees  was  just  such  a 
spot  as  the  dusty  motorist  delights  to  stumble 
upon  after  a  long  ride  over  the  hot  Italian 
roads. 

Our  gasoline  was  running  low,  so  noticing 
a  sign  with  the  words  Benzino-Lubrificanti,  we 
entered.  The  commercianti  spoke  as  much 
English  as  we  spoke  Italian.  We  compromised 
on  gestures.  In  Italy  it  is  a  safe  rule  to  pay 
about  half  the  price  asked.  After  half  an  hour 
of  bargaining  we  obtained  five  liters  of  gasoline 
for  forty-five  centesimi  a  liter.  The  price 
demanded  at  first  was  ninety-five  centesimi. 
Our  change  included  a  couple  of  five-lira  notes 
so  dirty,  greasy,  and  mangled  that  they  looked 
in  the  last  stages  of  the  plague.  We  would 
have  felt  safer  to  have  handled  them  with 
tongs.  Within  a  few  days  we  had  received 
kronen,  heller,  marks,  pfennigs,  lira,  centesimi. 
It  was  quite  an  education  in  the  currency 
systems  of  Europe. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hotel  we  entered 
the  cathedral.    To  find  so  imposing  an  edifice 


48       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

amid  so  much  poverty  was  a  surprise.  Equally 
astonishing  was  the  way  the  steep  hills  behind 
the  town  were  terraced  and  cultivated,  as 
though  the  very  rocks  themselves  had  been 
made  to  blossom  and  bear  fruit.  An  Italian 
woman  across  the  street  was  filling  her  jug 
at  a  fountain.  The  nozzle,  crumpled  into  a 
trefoil,  was  of  the  same  style  as  that  used  by 
the  Roman  matrons  twenty-five  centuries 
ago.  Little  things  like  this  show  how  slowly 
time  has  marched  in  these  lake  towns  of 
northern  Italy. 

The  cool  fragrance  of  early  morning  filled 
the  air  when  we  waved  addio  to  our  padrone 
and  followed  the  curves  of  the  shore  toward 
Como  at  the  end  of  the  lake.  There  is  much 
in  favor  of  an  early  start  before  the  heat  begins 
to  quiver  above  the  road  and  the  air  to  resemble 
a  continuous  cloud  of  dust.  Every  foot  of 
the  way  was  interesting.  There  were  bright- 
colored  villas  half  smothered  in  vines;  crum- 
bling bell  towers  flung  their  shadows  across 
our  path;  dizzy  cliffs  hung  above  us;  the  lake 
was  constantly  within  view. 

At  one  of  the  turns  a  bicycle  rider  shot  by. 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  49 

We  missed  him  by  an  inch.  He  was  followed 
by  many  others,  scattered  over  the  distance 
of  a  mile.  They  were  all  riding  recklessly, 
rounding  the  corners  at  top  speed  and  with 
heads  bent  low  over  the  handle  bars.  Different 
numbers  were  pinned  on  their  backs.  This 
was  evidently  a  long-distance  bicycle  race. 
It  was  nerve  racking  to  meet  so  many  curves 
and  not  to  know  whether  the  riders  would 
pass  us  on  the  right  or  on  the  left.  There  is 
no  fixed  rule  of  the  road  in  Italy.  In  towns 
having  a  tram,  one  turns  to  the  left.  Southern 
Italy  is  still  more  confusing,  since  each  town 
has  its  own  rule.  In  Como  we  motored  down 
two  or  three  streets  before  finally  discovering, 
after  many  inquiries,  the  road  running  north- 
ward to  Aosta  in  the  Italian  Alps. 

We  regretted  our  last  glimpse  of  the  lake. 
Instead  of  hazy  mountains,  blue  sparkling 
waters,  red  sails,  and  pretty  villas,  the  scenery 
changed  to  flat,  uninteresting  country.  No- 
vara  was  reached  by  noon,  its  streets  baking 
in  the  fierce  August  sun.  At  the  Hotel  Italia 
the  flies  covered  table  and  dishes.  The  menu 
card  presented  difficulties;  it  was  written  in 


So       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

a  very  illegible  Italian.  We  guessed  at  most 
of  the  courses,  but  macaroni  was  the  only  dish 
of  which  we  were  sure.  But  our  plight  was 
not  quite  so  discouraging  as  that  of  another 
motorist  who  found  that  for  three  of  his  courses 
he  had  ordered  eggs  cooked  in  three  different 
ways.  The  early  afternoon  was  so  hot  that 
we  had  thought  of  taking  a  siesta,  but  soon 
gave  up  the  idea.  There  were  too  many  flies. 
The  inmates  of  the  garage  were  all  fast  asleep, 
and  the  two  blinking  men  whom  we  aroused 
could  not  conceal  their  surprise  at  our  unsea- 
sonable departure. 

Once  out  in  the  country,  the  dust  invaded 
and  pervaded  everything.  It  was  real  Italian 
dust,  that  sifted  into  us  and  all  but  blinded 
us.  The  heat  was  terrific.  For  fear  of  burst- 
ing a  tire,  we  halted  in  a  drowsy  village  to  let 
the  car  cool  off  under  a  shady  chestnut  tree. 
As  if  by  magic,  a  score  of  dirty,  ragged  Italian 
children  surrounded  us,  and  begged  for  centes- 
imi.  We  threw  them  a  few  coppers,  but  this 
vision  of  riches  only  served  to  redouble  the 
clamor.  Flight  seemed  the  only  price  of 
tranquillity. 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  51 

A  little  way  outside  the  village,  a  cloud 
rolled  swiftly  toward  us.  The  motor  car  did 
not  appear  to  be  much  more  than  a  cloud  when 
it  passed  us,  so  thick  was  the  dust.  If  there 
is  anything  hotter  or  dustier  than  an  Italian 
highway  on  the  third  of  August,  we  do  not 
wish  to  see  it.  The  drivers  of  most  of  the 
small  carts  were  curled  up,  content  to  let  the 
patient  mule  take  its  own  pace,  provided  their 
siesta  was  undisturbed.  The  shrill  call  of  our 
horn  often  caused  them  to  move  a  little;  there 
would  be  a  slight  twitching  of  the  reins,  and 
then  they  would  relax  again  into  slumber. 
The  mule  never  changed  its  course. 

Beyond  Ivrea  the  country  became  more 
rolling  and  broken,  and  the  Alps,  which  an 
hour  before  had  appeared  as  blue,  shadowy 
cloud  masses,  now  lifted  bold,  distinct  outlines. 
This  contrast  in  scenery  was  as  abrupt  as  it 
was  impressive.  Perhaps  it  was  a  ruined 
castle  perched  like  an  eagle's  nest  amid  high 
crags.  Within  the  same  view,  the  eye  beheld 
the  vineyards,  not  planted  in  the  usual  manner 
of  row  above  row,  but  arbor  above  arbor, 
supported  by  white  stone  pillars,  and  these 


52   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

arbors  rising  to  the  very  summit  of  lofty  hills. 

The  road  which  had  been  winding  and  rising 
above  the  magnificent  valley  of  Aosta  now 
ran  into  a  level  stretch.  We  had  opened  wide 
the  throttle,  when  all  at  once  a  motor  car 
flashed  around  a  curve  two  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  us.  An  officer  in  the  back  seat 
waved  to  attract  our  attention,  and  kept 
pointing  back  to  the  curve.  The  warning 
was  just  in  time,  for  as  we  waited  within  the 
shadow  of  the  bend,  another  motor  car  shot 
at  racing  speed  around  the  curve.  She  was 
a  French  racer.  There  had  been  no  warning 
shriek  of  her  horns;  the  road  was  so  narrow 
at  this  point  that  a  collision  could  hardly 
have  been  avoided  without  that  precious  second 
of  warning. 

Every  year  in  Europe  reckless  driving  causes 
more  accidents  than  all  the  steep  roads  of  the 
Alps.  This  is  the  chief  danger  of  motoring 
on  the  Continent.  The  roads  are  so  good  that 
there  is  the  constant  temptation  to  disregard 
the  still  small  voice  of  prudence. 

The  old  Roman  town  of  Aosta  was  in  sight. 
This  "Rome  of  the  Alps"  is  a  perfect  treasure 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  53 

house  of  antiquities.  Passing  under  ancient 
Roman  arches,  we  rode  down  the  quaint  main 
streets  to  the  Hotel  Royal  Victoria,  situated, 
according  to  our  Michelin  Guide,  "pres  de  la 
gare."  The  hotel,  although  small,  was  clean. 
This  fact  of  cleanliness  speaks  much  for  any 
hotel  located  in  a  small  Italian  town. 

Our  morning  promenade  revealed  much  that 
was  interesting.  The  middle  of  some  of  the 
streets  was  traversed  by  a  mountain  stream, 
the  above-ground  sewage  system  of  Aosta. 
It  was  curious  to  notice  how  a  part  of  the 
ancient  Roman  theater  had  become  the  sup- 
porting wall  of  a  crowded  tenement  house. 
Aosta  remains  to-day  almost  undiscovered  to 
the  American  tourist  world.  Yet  there  are 
few  places  where  antiquity  speaks  more  vividly. 
The  market  place  was  a  scene  of  activity. 
This  is  the  starting  point  for  the  crossing  of 
the  Petit  St.  Bernard  pass.  Here  tourists 
were  climbing  into  large  excursion  automobiles, 
and  German  mountain  climbers  .were  setting 
out,  well  equipped  with  long,  iron-pointed 
poles,  ice  picks,  ropes,  and  heavy  spiked  shoes 
for  their  battle  with  snow  and  ice. 


54       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

It  was  ideal  weather  for  our  second  con- 
quest of  the  Alps  over  the  Petit  St.  Bernard, 
which  is  closed  eight  months  out  of  the  year. 
While  very  dangerous  in  places,  the  pass  is 
free  from  the  restrictions  which  the  motorist 
finds  on  the  Simplon.  There,  one  has  to  give 
notice  in  writing  of  intention  to  cross.  It  is 
also  necessary  to  pay  five  francs  for  a  permit. 
The  speed  limit  of  six  miles  an  hour  is  rigidly 
enforced.  Nevertheless,  as  one  experienced 
motorist  told  us,  if  the  Simplon  pass  compels 
a  speed  of  six  miles  an  hour  on  the  straight 
course,  and  one  and  three-fourths  miles  at 
the  curves,  the  Petit  St.  Bernard  ought  to 
have  a  special  speed-limit  of  three  miles  an 
hour  on  the  straight  and  two  guards  at  every 
corner.  Except  the  Stelvio,  there  is  probably 
not  a  more  difficult  mountain  pass  in  Europe. 

We  left  Aosta  to  its  memories  of  Roman 
days,  threaded  for  some  distance  the  tortuous 
windings  of  the  Val  d'Aosta,  and  crossed  the 
Pont  de  la  Salle  above  a  high  gorge.  Near 
the  ancient  village  of  Pre  St.  Didier  a  rocky 
tunnel  buried  us  temporarily  from  the  outer 
world.    Here  the  ascent  began,  and  continued 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  55 

for  some  miles  to  La  Thuile,  the  Italian  dogana. 
As  we  climbed  out  of  the  valley  the  panorama 
included  a  sublime  view  of  Mont  Blanc, 
highest  of  the  Alps. 

At  La  Thuile,  two  Frenchmen,  about  to  make 
the  ascent  on  motor  cycles,  cautioned  us  about 
the  dangers  of  the  climb.  The  customhouse 
officials  were  unusually  affable,  and  were 
delighted  to  be  included  in  a  group  picture. 
Then  the  long  climb  of  six  miles  to  the  sum- 
mit began  to  reveal  dangers  and  difficulties. 
One  sharp  curve  followed  another.  We  soon 
overtook  the  French  motor  cyclists.  They  were 
walking,  having  found  the  ascent  too  steep.  It 
was  thrilling  to  be  able  to  look  down  into  the 
sunshine  and  fertility  of  Italy  and  then  to 
observe  the  barren  world  of  rock  and  snow  into 
which  we  had  risen.  The  engine  proved  equal 
to  the  severe  test.  We  used  the  same  tactics 
which  were  so  successful  on  the  Stelvio,  keep- 
ing the  same  pace  until  the  summit  was  gained, 
where  we  let  the  car  rest  near  the  world- 
famous  Hospice  du  Petit  St.  Bernard.  Other 
cars  had  halted  in  succession,  having  made  the 
ascent  from  the  French  side  en  tour  to  Italy. 


56       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

There  was  missing  one  interesting  personality 
who  had  greeted  visitors  to  the  hospice  in 
other  years,  the  Abbe  Chanoux,  for  fifty  years 
rector  of  the  hospice  and  the  last  patriarch 
of  that  legendary  region  of  the  Alps.  The 
hospices  of  the  Grand  St.  Bernard,  and  of  the 
Simplon  in  Swiss  territory,  are  managed  by 
priests,  but  the  Abbe  Chanoux  reigned  alone 
in  his  mountain  hospital,  assisted  by  a  few 
helpers  and  by  his  dogs.  For  half  a  century 
it  was  always  a  joy,  when  he  saw  some  traveler 
less  hurried  than  the  others,  to  offer  him  a 
glass  of  muscat  in  his  workshop  and  then, 
after  having  shown  his  garden  of  Alpine 
plants,  to  point  out  the  shortest  road  to  La 
Thuile.  To-day  the  tourist  can  see  the 
Alpine  garden  and  the  grave  where,  at  the 
age  of  eighty-one  years,  Abbe  Chanoux  was 
buried.  The  resting  place  is  where  he  wished 
it  to  be,  in  view  of  Italy,  France,  Mont  Blanc, 
and  his  beloved  hospice. 

Just  beyond  the  hospice  is  a  Roman  column 
of  rough  marble  bearing  the  statue  of  St. 
Bernard.  One  also  sees,  close  by,  a  circle  of 
large  stones  marking  the  spot  where  Hannibal 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  57 

is  supposed  to  have  held  a  council  of  war. 
A  simple  slab  by  the  roadside  designates  the 
boundary  line  between  Italy  and  France. 
As  if  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  we  were  in 
France,  a  group  of  French  soldiers  were  on 
duty  close  to  the  frontier.  The  cuisine  of  the 
restaurant  Belvedere,  with  its  attractive  carte 
du  jour,  took  us  into  the  real  atmosphere  of 
the  country. 

The  descent  of  nearly  eighteen  miles  from 
the  summit  to  the  French  douane  at  Seez,  was 
like  passing  from  mid-winter  to  mid-summer. 
What  a  superb  stretch  of  motoring  it  was! 
The  panorama,  one  of  those  marvelous  master- 
pieces which  nature  rarely  spreads  before 
the  eyes  even  of  fortunate  motorists!  From 
our  point  of  observation,  on  a  level  with  the  ice 
peaks,  we  could  look  for  miles  down  into  the 
plains  of  Savoy.  Mont  Blanc  glistened  like 
burnished  silver.  We  could  trace  the  mountain 
streams  from  their  cradle  in  the  glacier  to 
their  wild  leaping  from  cascade  to  cascade 
and  to  the  more  peaceful  flow  through  the 
valley.  Pine  forests  mantled  the  lower  part 
of  the  mountain. 


58   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Ignition  was  cut  off,  and  the  car  left  to 
her  own  momentum.  The  grades  were  much 
steeper  than  on  the  Italian  slope,  and  the 
curves  without  railing  or  protection  of  any 
kind.  The  slightest  carelessness  in  steering 
would  have  been  fatal.  Flowers  and  grass 
began  to  cover  the  meadows.  Pine  forests 
surrounded  us.  Then  we  entered  on  the  long, 
sharp  descent  to  Seez,  stopping  at  the  douane 
where  the  French  officials  came  out  to  re- 
ceive us. 

The  following  incident  will  sound  almost  too 
incredible  even  to  be  included  in  a  story  of 
motor  experiences.  There  was  a  small  duty 
to  be  paid  on  the  gasoline  which  we  were 
carrying.  Our  wealth  consisted  of  American 
express  checks,  a  few  Italian  coins,  and  some 
French  change,  insufficient  by  twenty  centimes 
to  pay  the  duty.  One  of  the  officials  advanced 
the  twenty  centimes  from  his  own  pocket,  thus 
saving  us  the  inconvenience  of  trying  to  cash 
the  express  checks  somewhere  in  the  town. 
We  wished  to  "snap"  his  picture,  but  his 
modesty  was  too  great.  He  also  refused  the 
Italian  coins  which  we  tried  to  press  upon 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  59 

him  as  a  souvenir  of  the  occasion.  One 
associates  customhouse  officials  with  so  many- 
things  that  are  unpleasant,  that  the  incident 
naturally  made  a  great  impression  on  us. 

Our  difficulties  were  by  no  means  over. 
The  winding  road  with  its  sharp  grades  re- 
quired the  greatest  caution.  Near  the  Pont 
St.  Martin  it  appeared  to  run  straight  over  a 
precipice,  and  then  turned  sharply  to  the  right. 
This  was  the  place  where  only  a  few  weeks 
later  an  American  party  suffered  a  terrible 
accident.  Their  machine  swerved  while  mak- 
ing the  slippery  turn,  and  fell  nearly  seventy 
feet  among  the  rocks. 

For  a  distance  of  seventeen  miles  from  Bourg 
St.  Maurice  to  Mouthiers  the  road  was  in 
an  appalling  condition,  any  speed  over  ten 
miles  an  hour  being  at  the  risk  of  breaking 
the  springs.  A  railroad  was  being  constructed, 
and  the  heavy  teams  had  raised  havoc.  We 
were  creeping  through  this  traffic,  when  the 
sudden  halt  of  the  wagon  in  front  compelled 
us  to  stop.  Two  big  teams,  drawing  stone, 
closed  in  on  either  side.  The  drivers,  intent 
only  on  looking  ahead,  did  not  notice  that 


60       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

their  heavy  wheels  were  in  danger  of  smashing 
the  car.  We  finally  attracted  their  attention, 
but  barely  in  time  to  avoid  trouble.  From 
Albertville  our  course  was  over  the  splendid 
Nationale,  which  runs  from  Paris  to  Italy. 

It  is  always  a  pleasant  experience  to  motor 
on  these  famous  highways,  to  observe  the 
governmental  system  of  tree  planting,  and 
to  study  what  trees  have  been  found  most 
suitable  in  certain  regions  to  protect  the  road 
and  the  traveler.  The  ornamental  horse  chest- 
nut and  maple  greeted  us  most  often  in  the 
small  towns  of  eastern  and  northern  France. 
Long  rows  of  plane  trees  formed  one  of  the 
familiar  and  beautiful  sights  of  Provence.  We 
often  saw  these  trees  fringing  the  fields  to 
give  shelter  and  protection  from  the  blasts 
of  the  mistral.  It  was  also  interesting  to 
notice  how  fruit  trees  have  in  many  places 
replaced  forest  trees  along  the  road.  These 
national  highways,  so  much  improved  by 
Napoleon,  were  for  us  like  open  books  for  the 
study  of  the  French  trees. 

It  has  been  well  noted  that  "while  the  state 
has  the  right  to  plant  along  the  national  roads, 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  61 

at  any  distance  it  pleases  from  the  adjoining 
property,  it  exercises  this  right  with  judicious 
moderation  and  leaves,  as  a  rule,  two  meters  — 
six  and  one-half  feet  —  between  the  trees  and 
the  outside  edge  of  the  roadway. 

"Tree  planting  is  let  in  small  contracts, 
sometimes  as  low  as  five  thousand  francs  apiece. 
The  object  of  this  is  to  promote  competition 
and  to  attract  specialists,  such  as  gardeners 
and  nurserymen,  who  are  hardly  likely  to  have 
the   means  for   undertaking   large   contracts. 

"Government  inspectors  see  that  the  con- 
tractor plants  well-formed  trees,  free  from  dis- 
ease and  in  every  way  first  class. 

"As  the  best  planting  season  is  short,  a  fine 
is  imposed  for  every  day's  delay.  When  the 
contractor  gets  his  pay,  a  certain  sum  is  re- 
tained as  a  guarantee;  and  for  two  years  he  is 
responsible  for  the  care  of  the  trees  and  for  the 
replacing  of  any  that  died  or  that  proved  de- 
fective. The  sum  held  back  until  the  final 
acceptance  of  his  work,  protects  the  government 
from  danger  of  loss."  » 

1  From  "French  Roads  and  their  Trees,"  by  J.  J.  Conway, 
in  Munsey's  Magazine  for  October,  191 3. 

X. 


62       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

There  was  no  hurry  about  reaching  Cham- 
bery,  our  headquarters  for  the  night.  The 
distance  of  a  few  miles  could  easily  be  covered 
before  dark,  so  we  halted  for  a  little  while  by 
the  roadside.  The  car  was  in  remarkably  good 
condition  after  the  tremendous  strain  of  the 
day's  ride.  Dimly,  in  the  distance,  towered 
the  snow-clad  heights  where  we  had  been  motor- 
ing only  a  short  time  before.  By  thus  tarrying 
a  while  we  enjoyed  dazzling  retrospect, 
present  beauty,  and  alluring  prospect. 

A  big  Peugot  tore  by.  These  wide,  smooth 
highways  of  crushed  stone  invite  speed.  There 
is  a  speed  limit  of  eighteen  miles  in  the  open 
country,  but  it  has  long  been  a  dead  letter. 
The  French  system  is  to  allow  the  motorist  to 
choose  his  own  pace,  but  to  make  him  fully 
responsible  for  accidents.  By  thus  heavily 
penalizing  careless  driving,  the  law  works  to 
develop  the  driver's  discretion  and  does  not 
impose  farcical  speed  limits.  This  absence  of 
burdensome  regulations  eliminates  an  endless 
amount  of  friction,  and  is  one  of  many  condi- 
tions in  France  which  have  contributed  to 
the  pleasure  and  comfort  of  foreign  motorists. 


CROSSING  THE  STELVIO  63 

Now  we  were  in  Savoy,  celebrated  for  its 
mountain  scenery,  its  lakes,  and  curious  peasant 
villages.  There  was  a  home  feeling  in  our 
return  to  this  beautiful  French  province,  for 
we  had  motored  here  a  previous  summer. 
Many  a  delightful  motor  ramble  was  associated 
with  the  names  of  Chamonix,  at  the  foot  of 
Mont  Blanc;  Evian-les-Bains,  on  Lake  Geneva; 
Annecy,  on  the  lake  of  the  same  name,  that 
quaint  city  which  so  charmed  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  a  few  years  ago,  with  its  arcaded,  wind- 
ing streets  and  old-world  charm ;  Aix-les-Bains, 
the  noted  and  popular  watering  place;  and 
there,  only  a  few  miles  away,  Chambery, 
historic  city  of  the  dukes  of  Savoy  and  of  the 
kings  of  Italy.  It  was  fine  to  see  that  same  blue 
atmosphere  about  us  again,  and,  above  all,  to 
think  that  for  weeks  our  motor  wanderings 
were  to  be  in  France,  the  one  country  on  the 
continent  of  Europe  where  an  American  can 
feel  most  at  home,  and  where  the  motorist  can 
find,  amid  diversity  of  scenery,  a  provincial  life 
charming  alike  for  its  hospitality  and  old- 
fashioned  customs.  Riding  through  the  twi- 
light to  Chambery,  we  hunted  up  the  Hotel  de 

6 


64       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

France.  This  hotel  could  hardly  have  been 
described  as  luxurious,  but  it  was  comfortable, 
as  are  most  of  the  hotels  in  the  provinces. 

The  chief  interest  of  Chambery  centers  about 
the  Rue  des  Arcades.  At  one  end  of  the 
arcaded  street  is  the  curious  Fontaine  des 
Elephants.  This  monument,  on  four  bronze 
elephants,  is  dedicated  "to  the  Comte  de 
Boigne,  who  settled  here  after  his  romantic  life 
of  soldiering  in  India  and  bestowed  much  of  the 
fruit  of  the  pagoda-tree  upon  the  town."  At 
the  other  end  of  the  street  are  the  high,  massive 
walls  which  protect  the  chateau  where  the  dukes 
of  Savoy  lived  and  where  some  of  the  kings 
of  Italy  were  born.  There  is  little  enough  to 
recall  the  glamour  and  glitter  of  those  proud 
days.  The  city,  with  its  more  prosaic  emblems 
of  civil  and  military  authority,  now  occupies 
the  chateau. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   VISIT   TO    LYONS 

A  T  Chambery  we  interrupted  our  trip 
through  southern  France  to  visit  Lyons, 
the  center  of  the  silk  industry  not  only  for 
France  but  for  the  entire  world.  For  once,  we 
traveled  by  train.  There  is  an  element  of  strain 
about  mountain  motoring  which  is  as  severe 
upon  driver  as  upon  car.  A  diversion  is  not 
only  welcome  but  almost  necessary  to  the 
motorist  who  has  twice  guided  his  car  over  the 
Alps  within  the  short  space  of  a  few  days. 
The  exhilaration  of  looking  down  into  France 
or  Italy  from  the  summit  of  the  Alps  does  not 
lessen  the  dangers  of  the  long  descent,  where  for 
considerable  stretches  every  foot  of  the  way  is 
crowded  with  possibilities  of  accident. 

Lyons,  while  usually  overlooked  by  the  vast 
army  of  summer  tourists,  holds,  in  many 
respects,  a  unique  place  among  the  world's  great 
cities.  We  would  speak  of  its  magnificent  loca- 
tion upon  two  rivers,  the  rapid  Rhone  and  the 
sluggish   Saone;  of   the   twenty-seven   bridges 

65 


66       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

that  cross  them ;  of  the  many  miles  of  tree-lined 
quays,  which  hold  back  the  spring  floods  and 
offer  a  lovely  promenade  to  the  people.  No  one 
who  has  seen  Lyons  will  forget  how  the  houses 
rise  in  picturesque  confusion,  tier  piled  above 
tier,  to  the  heights  of  Fauviere,  where  some  of 
the  Roman  emperors  lived  centuries  ago,  and 
where,  on  the  site  of  the  old  Roman  forum, 
stands  a  beautiful  church,  overlooking  the  city 
and  embracing  one  of  the  views  of  Europe  of 
which  one  never  tires.  On  a  clear  day  the  Alps 
are  visible,  and  the  snows  of  Mont  Blanc,  and 
just  outside  the  city  one  can  see  the  two  rivers 
uniting  in  their  sweep  to  the  Mediterranean. 

Lyons  is  a  military  stronghold.  Its  promi- 
nence as  a  manufacturing  and  railroad  center 
indicates,  of  course,  its  great  strategic  impor- 
tance. Seventeen  forts  guard  the  hills  around 
the  city.  The  army  is  much  in  evidence. 
This  constant  coming  and  going  of  the  French 
soldiers  gives  much  color  and  animation  to  the 
street  scenes.  Everyone  is  impressed  by  the 
cuirassiers.  They  are  powerfully  built  and 
look  so  effective,  like  real  soldiers  who  could 
uphold  the  traditions  of  Napoleon's  time,  and 


A  VISIT  TO  LYONS  67 

who  would  feel  much  more  at  home  on  the  battle 
field  than  at  an  afternoon  tea.  We  saw  the 
Zouaves,  in  their  huge,  baggy  red  pantalons 
and  with  their  faces  tanned  by  exposure  to  the 
tropical  sun  of  Algeria.  Their  red  caps  re- 
minded us  of  the  Turkish  fez. 

The  Place  des  Terraux,  peaceful  enough 
to-day  with  its  busy  shops  and  clouds  of  white 
doves,  witnessed  many  a  tragic  spectacle  of  the 
French  Revolution.  The  guillotine  stood  in 
the  center  of  the  square.  Lyons,  always 
royalist  in  its  sympathies,  was  one  of  the  first 
cities  to  raise  the  standard  of  revolt  against  the 
excesses  of  the  revolutionists  in  Paris.  The 
consequences  of  this  act  were  fatal  and  terrible. 
The  Reign  of  Terror  in  Paris  was  surpassed  by 
the  more  gruesome  reign  of  terror  in  Lyons. 
An  army  was  sent  against  the  city,  which  was 
finally  captured,  after  a  desperate  resistance. 
"Then  the  convention  resolved  to  inflict  an 
unheard-of  punishment ;  it  ordered  the  destruc- 
tion of  a  part  of  the  city  and  the  erection  on  the 
ruins  of  a  pillar,  with  the  inscription,  'Lyons 
waged  war  with  liberty;  Lyons  is  no  more.'  "  l 

1  Political  History  of  Modern  Europe,  by  Ferdinand 
Schwill,  Ph.D. 


68       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

The  city  was  "the  scene  of  perhaps  the  greatest 
cruelty  of  the  Revolution,  when  women  who 
had  begged  for  mercy  to  their  dear  ones,  were 
tied  to  the  foot  of  the  guillotine  and  compelled 
to  witness  hours  of  butchery."  ■  It  was  soon 
found  that  the  guillotine  did  not  work  fast 
enough.  The  defect  was  quickly  remedied. 
Hundreds  of  captives  were  taken  outside  the 
city,  where  the  guns  of  the  revolutionists  con- 
tinued the  slaughter  on  a  larger  and  more  satis- 
factory scale. 

Possibly  the  most  interesting  fact  about 
modern  Lyons  is  its  industrial  prominence. 
Baedeker  tells  us  that  the  city  exports  annually 
over  one  hundred  million  dollars'  worth  of  silk. 
Its  life  seems  to  be  founded  upon  this  one  indus- 
try. The  rich  Lyonnais  are  silk  manufacturers. 
The  museum  of  silks  is  the  finest  thing  of  its 
kind  in  Europe.  In  the  old  part  of  the  city  is 
the  statue  of  Jacquard,  the  inventor  of  the  silk 
loom.  As  we  walked  through  the  narrow 
streets,  there  could  be  heard  the  sharp  clicking 
of  the  shuttles,  a  sign  that  the  weavers  were 

xFrora  "  The  Alpine  Road  of  France,"  by  Sir  Henry  Nor- 
man, M.  P.,  in  Scribner's  Magazine,  February,  1914. 


A  VISIT  TO  LYONS  69 

busy  at  their  looms.  We  were  shown  the 
"conditioning  house,"  where  the  imported  raw 
silk  is  tested  and  subjected  to  a  high  tempera- 
ture. This  is  the  first  important  step  in  the 
manufacture  of  silk,  which  in  the  raw  state 
absorbs  moisture  readily.  But  by  exposing  the 
silk  to  heat  at  a  temperature  of  seventy-two  to 
seventy-seven  degrees  Fahrenheit,  the  water 
evaporates  and  the  weight  of  the  silk  may  then 
be  ascertained.  To  prevent  fraud  it  is  then 
marked  by  a  sworn  valuer.  France  raises  very 
little  raw  silk,  most  of  it  being  imported  from 
Japan  and  China.  Out  of  a  population  of 
nearly  half  a  million,  nearly  a  third  is  directly 
engaged  in  the  production  of  silk,  and  the 
workers  in  the  surrounding  districts  would 
probably  number  as  many  more.  For  a  dis- 
tance of  thirty  miles,  outside  of  Lyons,  the 
country  is  dotted  with  little  houses,  each  con- 
taining one  or  more  looms.  The  prosperity  of 
few  large  cities  is  more  clearly  the  result  of  a 
single  industry. 

Americans  are  especially  interested  in  Lyons 
for  its  connection  with  the  starting  of  silk  manu- 
facturing in  the  United  States.     A  short  time 


70       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

ago  we  were  shown  a  letter  written  in  1863  by 
an  American  living  in  Lyons.  He  refers  to  the 
excitement  created  in  this  district  by  the 
rumor  that  weavers  were  being  engaged  with  a 
view  to  establishing  silk  manufacturing  in  the 
United  States  on  a  very  extensive  scale,  and 
that  several  companies  had  been  formed  and 
had  sent  out  agents  to  purchase  in  Lyons  all  the 
machinery  and  looms  used  in  the  manufacture 
of  silk.  The  writer  doubted  if  the  conditions  in 
the  United  States  would  make  possible  the  suc- 
cess of  the  venture.  In  spite  of  this  prediction, 
the  industry  developed  rapidly,  so  that  to-day 
nine  hundred  American  manufacturers  have  a 
combined  annual  output  valued  at  over  two 
hundred  million  dollars.  At  the  time  of  the 
assassination  of  Lincoln  the  United  States  gov- 
ernment received  a  silk  flag  from  the  weavers 
of  Lyons  dedicated  to  the  people  of  the  United 
States  in  memory  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  The 
flag  was  of  the  finest  fabric  and  was  inscribed: 
"Popular  subscription  to  the  Republic  of  the 
United  States,  in  memory  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Lyons,  1865." 

But  while  the  United  States  is  making  more 


A  VISIT  TO  LYONS  71 

silk  than  France,  Lyons  remains  the  real  center 
and  heart  of  the  industry.  American  high- 
power  looms  are  mostly  engaged  in  turning  out, 
by  the  mile,  a  cheaper  kind  of  silk,  and  largely 
confined  to  standard  grades  in  most  common 
use.  The  thread  is  much  coarser.  After  hav- 
ing lived  in  Lyons  it  is  possible  to  understand 
why  this  city  continues  to  be  the  center  of  the 
silk  industry,  even  when  we  consider  that  this 
is  a  mechanical  age,  and  that  the  inventions  of 
one  nation  spread  quickly  to  competing  na- 
tions. American  manufacturers  are  using  the 
Jacquard  loom,  a  Lyonnais  invention.  The 
first  American  looms  were  imported  from  Lyons, 
but  one  thing  which  was  not  bought  and  im- 
ported with  the  loom,  was  that  aptitude  for 
handling  it  which  is  inborn  in  the  Lyonnais. 
Machinery  has  its  limitations,  and  back  of  the 
machine  is  the  question  of  efficient  labor.  The 
trained  hand  of  the  workman  is  needed  at  every 
turn.  The  looms  of  Lyons  are  famous  for  their 
light,  soft,  brilliant  tissues.  The  silk  thread 
woven  into  many  of  these  beautiful  products  is 
so  fine  that  two  and  one-half  million  feet  of  it 
would  weigh  only  two  and  one-fifth  pounds. 


72       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

It  is  an  experience  to  see  the  weavers  at  their 
work,  and  to  watch  the  sure,  skillful  way  in 
which  they  weave  the  thousands  of  delicate 
threads  into  harmonies  of  color.  Their  skill  is 
the  heritage  that  has  come  down  from  father  to 
son.  These  workmen  have  a  start  of  many 
centuries  over  their  American  competitors. 
Their  ancestors  were  weaving  silk  before  Amer- 
ica was  discovered,  the  industry  being  started 
in  Lyons  in  1450  by  Italian  refugees.  Tradi- 
tions count  for  a  great  deal  in  the  silk  in- 
dustry, and  from  the  moment  when  Lyonnais 
weavers  gained  the  Grand  Prix  from  their 
Venetian  rivals,  under  Louis  XIV,  in  the  latter 
half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  their  looms 
were  busy  making  costly  robes  and  rare 
tapestries  for  the  royalty  of  Europe.  In  the 
museum  at  Lyons  is  a  robe  worn  by  the  famous 
Catherine  II  of  Russia.  One  is  shown  tapestries 
that  adorned  the  apartments  of  Marie  An- 
toinette in  the  Tuileries  at  Paris,  and  the  throne 
room  of  Napoleon  I  in  the  palace  at  Versailles. 
Money  could  not  buy  these  precious  souvenirs 
of  the  Lyonnais  looms.  Many  of  the  gorgeous 
robes   worn   at   the   coronation   ceremony   of 


A  VISIT  TO  LYONS  73 

George  V  were  made  in  Lyons.  To-day,  as  in 
the  past,  to  make  these  rich  silks  and  brocades 
that  France  is  exporting,  there  is  needed  not 
only  the  skill  of  the  worker,  but  the  soul  of  the 
artist.  This  artistic  French  temperament  is 
the  important  and  deciding  factor  that  makes 
Lyons  the  center  of  the  silk  industry.  There 
has  been  the  attempt  to  create  in  the  United 
States  a  style  which  would  be  distinctly 
American.  It  failed.  The  German  emperor 
also  encouraged  efforts  to  create  a  style  which 
would  be  typically  German.  The  result  was 
the  same.  The  atmosphere  in  these  countries 
is  too  commercial  and  mechanical  for  artistic 
vitality.  In  such  an  environment  it  is  said  that 
the  French  weavers  who  are  employed  in  Amer- 
ican silk  factories  become  less  effective,  and  lose 
much  of  their  artistic  originality.  The  indus- 
trial pace  is  too  fast.  The  cost  of  labor  in  the 
United  States  is  so  great  that  the  emphasis  has 
to  be  placed  on  speed  and  quantity  in  order  to 
cover  the  cost  of  production.  But  in  Lyons, 
with  a  cheaper  labor  cost,  the  organization  of 
hand  and  power  looms  is  so  perfect  that  a  manu- 
facturer is  able  to  fill  large  orders  readily. 


74       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

A  superior  loom  organization,  combined  with 
a  temperament  naturally  artistic  and  creative, 
explains  the  advantage  of  the  Lyonnais  manu- 
facturer over  his  American  rival,  and  why  it  is 
that  American  buyers  for  our  large  department 
stores  come  to  Lyons  twice  a  year  to  select 
designs  and  place  orders  with  the  Lyonnais 
manufacturers.  Department  stores  which  cater 
to  the  wealthiest  class  of  trade  have  their  rep- 
resentatives permanently  stationed  here  to 
keep  in  closest  possible  touch  with  the  latest 
French  fashions. 

This  question  of  style  is  of  such  absorbing 
interest  to  the  average  American  home  that  it 
will  be  worth  while  to  notice  the  forces  at  work 
in  Lyons  to  produce  it.  Paris  is  so  largely  the 
parade  ground  for  new  fashions  that  nearly 
everyone  overlooks  the  tremendous  influence 
of  Lyons  in  the  creation  of  styles.  The  hun- 
dred and  more  silk  manufacturers  of  Lyons 
have  their  own  designers,  who  are  constantly 
devising  new  patterns  and  color  combinations. 
Most  of  the  new  designs  and  color  schemes  that 
appear  every  season  in  muslins,  taffetas,  satins, 
in  all  the  varied  kinds  and  qualities  of  silk,  have 


A  VISIT  TO  LYONS 


75 


their  origin  here.  This  is  the  creative  source. 
It  is  Paris  that  discriminates  and  decides  to 
which  of  these  new  patterns  it  will  give  expres- 
sion in  the  models  which  will  be  copied  in  all 
the  fashion  centers  of  the  world.  Paris  has  the 
artistic  sense  of  knowing  how  to  combine  the 
materials  that  Lyons  furnishes.  The  two  cities 
work  together.  The  famous  fashion  stores  of 
Paris  and  the  silk  manufacturers  of  Lyons  are 
the  primary  factors  in  the  creation  of  styles,  and 
yet,  after  all,  the  origin  of  style  is  to  be  found  in 
the  spirit  of  the  times.  Our  restless  age  craves 
constant  change.  A  century  ago  in  France, 
when  life  moved  more  slowly,  the  silk  dress  was 
an  important  part  of  the  bride's  trousseau,  and 
after  being  worn  on  special  occasions  through 
her  life,  was  handed  down  to  the  next  genera- 
tion. But  to-day  the  styles  change  with  the 
seasons. 

And  as  they  change  in  Paris  so  they  change 
in  the  United  States.  If  we  look  at  this  ques- 
tion of  style  simply  from  the  standpoint  of 
organization,  it  seems  remarkable  how  per- 
fectly every  little  detail  of  the  complicated 
machinery  has  been  worked  out.    A  French 


76       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR   CAR 

silk  manufacturer,  who  arrived  in  Lyons  after  a 
visit  to  several  American  cities,  was  impressed 
not  only  with  the  rapidity  with  which  styles 
spread  from  the  upper  to  the  middle  classes, 
and  the  quickness  with  which  the  American 
people  grasp  new  ideas  of  dress,  but  also  with 
the  fact  that  Paris  fashions  appear  in  New  York 
and  Chicago  at  almost  the  same  time  that  they 
appear  in  Paris.  He  saw  accurate  reproduc- 
tions of  the  spring  Paris  fashions,  made  in 
America  of  French  materials,  and  with  the 
color,  the  line,  the  idea,  the  detail,  so  perfectly 
reproduced  that  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
decide  between  them  and  the  Paris  garment. 
More  and  more  we  are  coming  to  realize  our 
great  debt  to  France,  and  to  the  Old  World,  for 
our  education  in  matters  of  taste,  for  our 
appreciation  of  beauty  in  line  and  color. 

And  in  Lyons  one  comes  closest  to  this  artistic 
spirit  in  the  workshops  of  the  weavers,  and 
especially  those  who  work  on  the  hand  looms. 
There  are  thousands  of  these  weavers  of  the  old 
school  that  has  done  so  much  to  make  famous 
the  silk  industry  of  the  city.  Their  wages  are 
small   and   they  work  amid  surroundings  of 


A  VISIT  TO  LYONS  77 

extreme  poverty.  We  visited  some  of  them  in 
their  shops.  Often  we  found  the  loom  situated 
in  a  damp,  gloomy  basement,  or  on  the  top 
floor  of  some  old  house  that  looked  as  though  it 
might  have  passed  through  the  storm  and  stress 
of  the  period  of  the  French  Revolution.  These 
sanitary  conditions  are  so  bad  that  in  191 1 
there  was  organized  a  charitable  company  with 
the  sole  purpose  of  providing  decent  lodgings 
where  the  weavers  could  work  under  improved 
conditions  of  light  and  shade.  We  always 
found  them  hospitable,  eager  to  exhibit  their 
work  and  explain  the  workings  of  the  loom.  In 
one  workshop  the  weaver  was  busy  with  a  piece 
of  satin,  the  design  being  wrought  in  silver  and 
gold.  For  this  beautiful  bit  of  tapestry,  which 
had  been  ordered  for  one  of  the  apartments  of 
the  Queen  of  England  in  Windsor  Castle,  the 
workman  was  receiving  only  one  dollar  a  day. 
On  another  loom  there  was  being  reproduced  a 
piece  of  sixteenth-century  brocade.  A  French 
millionaire  had  noticed  the  original  in  a  mu- 
seum and  wanted  an  exact  reproduction  of  it 
for  a  new  chateau  he  is  building.  After  a 
morning  passed  amid  such  scenes,  you  feel  that 


78       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Lyons  is  worth  visiting,  if  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  see  at  their  work  these  artists  of  the 
loom  who  are  so  closely  associated  with  one 
of  the  world's  oldest  and  most  interesting 
industries. 


CHAPTER  V 

CHAMBERY   TO   NIMES 

T7*ROM  Chambery  our  course  ran  southwest 
through  the  Midi,  that  great  sweep  of 
territory  stretching  across  the  Mediterranean 
basin  from  the  Alps  to  the  Pyrenees  and 
embracing  many  of  the  most  interesting  regions 
in  France. 

Our  departure,  early  in  the  afternoon,  was 
under  somber  skies.  We  were  just  reaching 
the  outskirts  of  the  city  when  the  engine  gave 
evidence  of  trouble.  The  car  ran  for  a  little 
way  and  then  stopped.  An  investigation  re- 
vealed the  necessity  of  cleaning  the  spark 
plugs.  While  engaged  in  this  work,  we  did 
not  notice  the  approach  of  an  ox  team  which 
came  swinging  along  the  road,  drawing  a 
two-wheeled  cart,  the  wheels  high  and  heavy, 
of  a  type  which  one  often  sees  in  the  Midi. 
We  were  bending  over  the  engine,  with  no 
thought  of  impending  danger,  when,  without 
warning,  the  great  wheels  were  upon  us. 
The  driver  was  evidently  asleep;  it  was  too 
6  79 


80   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

late  to  attract  his  attention.  The  wheel 
grazed  one  of  us,  and  then,  as  the  oxen  swung 
in,  crushed  the  other  against  the  fender.  It 
was  fortunate  that  the  fender  yielded  just 
enough  to  cause  him  to  be  forced  under  it 
and  thus  saved  him  from  serious  injury.  Our 
car  carried  the  scars  of  that  encounter  until 
the  end  of  the  trip.  We  were  just  as  well 
satisfied  that  it  was  the  car  which  bore  the 
scars. 

Not  more  than  a  mile  or  so  from  the  scene 
of  this  adventure,  a  sign  called  attention  to 
a  long  tunnel  just  ahead.  The  signs  of  the 
French  roads  speak  an  expressive  language, 
they  are  so  elaborately  worked  out  for  the 
traveler's  convenience.  This  time  it  was  a 
voice  of  warning.  Lamps  were  lighted.  The 
tunnel  closed  over  us.  We  could  just  make 
out  the  faint  star  of  daylight  ahead.  Weird 
shadows  danced  in  front  of  the  car.  In  the 
silence  and  gloom,  the  noise  of  our  progress 
over  the  slippery  road  was  greatly  magnified. 
We  emerged  from  the  tunnel  to  find  ourselves 
above  a  broad  valley  and  nearing  the  small 
town  of  Les  Echelles. 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  81 

Until  this  point  our  course  was  the  route 
to  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  the  monastery 
where,  in  mediaeval  days,  the  monks  concocted 
a  soothing  cordial  to  refresh  the  hours  of  rude 
toil.  The  road  now  branched  off  in  another 
direction.  Our  hopes  of  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  celebrated  old  monastery,  built  high 
amid  enshrining  mountains,  were  doomed  to 
disappointment.  A  storm  was  about  to  break. 
Heavy  clouds,  weighted  down  by  their  burdens 
of  water,  blotted  out  everything.  From  a 
patch  of  blue  sky  above  Les  Echelles,  the 
sun  streamed,  and  then  disappeared.  We 
raced  down  the  easy  slope  to  gain  shelter  in 
the  village  a  mile  away.  Swiftly  the  thick 
curtain  of  rain  closed  in.  It  was  a  question 
whether  we  would  be  able  to  reach  shelter 
before  the  fury  of  the  elements  burst  upon  us. 
Once  more  our  car  proved  equal  to  the  emer- 
gency, and  we  poked  our  way  into  the  shed 
adjoining  a  village  inn  and  waited  until  the 
worst  of  the  storm  had  subsided.  The  rain 
continuing,  we  put  up  the  top,  and  started 
in  time  to  see  a  brilliant  rainbow  arching  the 
whole  valley.    It  was  only  for  a  moment.    For 


82   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

the  rest  of  the  afternoon  we  splashed  steadily- 
through  puddles  and  mud. 

The  scenery  changed.  Mountain  landscapes 
gave  place  to  the  lowlands  of  the  Midi,  barren 
rocks  to  fertile  peasant  farms.  It  was  all  a 
glimpse  of  France  as  she  really  is;  not  like 
Germany,  a  land  of  large  cities,  but  rather 
of  small  towns  and  rural  hamlets  where  peasant 
ownership  is  a  fact,  and  where  the  peasantry 
form  a  mighty  political  force.  France,  so 
torn  by  rival  factions,  would  be  like  a  machine 
without  a  balance  wheel  if  it  were  not  for  a 
large  peasant  class  attached  to  the  soil  by  the 
bond  of  ownership.  The  life  of  the  French 
peasant  is  not  easy.  He  toils  long  hours  for 
small  rewards.  Even  in  the  rain,  we  could 
see  him  continuing  at  his  work.  But  he  is 
free.  Those  two  or  three  acres  are  his  own. 
That  is  the  great  point.  This  fact  of  posses- 
sion, by  creating  local  ties  and  by  fostering 
patriotism,  is  the  safeguard  of  the  country. 
His  implements  appeared  to  be  of  the  simplest ; 
probably  most  of  those  whom  we  saw  working 
on  that  rainy  afternoon  had  never  seen  a 
steam  plow    or  a   harvesting  machine.    The 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  83 

homes  were  equally  rude.  Everywhere  in 
France  we  noticed  the  absence  of  those  cozy, 
comfortable  houses  which  are  so  characteristic 
of  the  average  American  farm.  Few  fences 
were  to  be  seen,  possibly  because  of  the  spirit 
of  justice  as  regards  property  rights,  or  per- 
haps because  the  land  laws  had  been  so  per- 
fectly worked  out. 

We  entered  Romans  through  a  street  so 
unusually  wide  as  to  be  a  pleasant  surprise. 
Darkness  was  coming  on.  Road  signs  were 
indistinct,  so  we  were  forced  to  inquire  the 
way  to  Valence.  The  people  were  obliging. 
Whether  we  were  in  the  country  or  in  some 
small  town,  there  was  always  in  evidence  that 
same  spirit  of  hospitable  helpfulness  which 
we  found  at  the  French  douane  in  Seez. 

The  street  lamps  of  Valence  were  burning 
when  we  arrived  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Croix  d'Or, 
so  well  known  to  all  who  journey  from  Paris 
to  the  Riviera.  The  marble  entrance  was 
quite  imposing,  but  apparently  after  reaching 
the  top  of  the  staircase  the  builders  were 
suddenly  seized  by  a  passion  for  economy, 
since  the  interior  was  very  plain,  like  most 


84   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

of  the  hotels  in  the  French  provincial  towns. 
The  dinner,  however,  made  up  for  other 
deficiencies.  Here,  and  all  through  the 
Midi,  we  could  be  sure  of  delicious  haricots 
verts,  omelette,  and  poulet;  and  what  may  seem 
strange,  we  never  became  tired  of  these 
dishes.  The  art  of  cooking  them  must  be  a 
monopoly  of  the  French  cuisine,  for  they  never 
tasted  so  good  in  other  countries. 

Valence  is  more  of  a  place  to  stop  en  tour 
than  to  visit  for  sight-seeing.  It  is  fortunate 
in  being  situated  on  the  main  route  from  Paris 
to  the  Riviera,  the  road  that  we  were  to  follow, 
and  probably  the  most  popular  and  most 
frequented  motor  road  in  France.  Over  its 
smooth,  broad  surface  passes  the  winter  rush 
of  motorists  seeking  the  warmer,  more  con- 
genial climate  of  the   Mediterranean  shores. 

We  often  found  more  or  less  trouble  in  getting 
out  of  the  larger  French  towns.  The  streets 
are  apt  to  have  a  snarl  and  tangle.  Carts 
and  wagons  block  the  way.  Roads  are  the 
worse  for  wear.  This  seemed  to  us  one  of  the 
big  differences  between  France  and  Germany. 
The  German  town  is  neat,  clean,  well-kept  as 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  85 

if  the  watchful  eye  of  municipal  authority 
were  always  on  the  alert  to  notice  and  remedy 
small  defects.  The  average  French  town  looks 
neglected.  The  people  are  just  as  thrifty,  but 
they  appear  to  care  less  for  appearances. 

From  Valence  we  swung  more  quickly  than 
usual  into  the  splendid  Route  Nationale 
above  mentioned.  It  was  Sunday.  Peasants 
were  entering  and  coming  from  the  small 
age-worn  churches.  At  that  hour  the  fields 
looked  strangely  deserted.  Blue  skies  were 
radiant,  the  air  agreeably  cooled  by  the  rain 
of  the  night  before,  the  dust  well  laid.  More 
and  more  we  were  yielding  to  the  fascination 
of  Europe  from  a  motor  car.  Train  schedules 
did  not  trouble  us.  We  were  independent. 
There  were  no  worries  about  having  to  arrive 
or  depart  at  a  certain  hour.  Life  on  the  road 
was  a  constant  flow  of  new  impressions,  new 
experiences.  Every  village  had  its  own  unique 
attraction.  Many  motor  cars  passed  us,  each 
one  an  object  of  interest.  Possibly  in  our 
cruise  along  these  high  seas  of  the  French 
roads  our  feelings  were  a  little  like  those  of 
the  mariner   when  he  sights  a  passing  ship. 


86       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Where  does  she  hail  from?  Where  her  prob- 
able destination?  Of  what  make?  What  flag 
is  she  flying?  It  was  always  a  welcome  sight 
to  view  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flying  toward  us. 
One  can  usually  tell  the  American  car  even 
when  some  distance  away,  it  is  built  so  high. 
We  noticed  many  Fords  and  Cadillacs.  There 
is  not  much  of  a  market  in  Europe  for  the 
expensive  American  car,  because  the  foreign 
high-priced  car  is  considered  by  the  Europeans 
to  be  good  enough.  The  cheaper  American 
product  has  a  market  because  few  of  the  foreign 
firms  make  a  cheap  car. 

High  noon  was  upon  us,  the  heat  oppressive, 
our  appetites  ravenous,  when  we  stopped  in 
the  poor  little  village  of  Pierrelatte.  The 
prospect  for  lunch  was  not  encouraging.  A 
single  stray  resident  appeared  at  the  other 
end  of  the  silent  street.  The  houses  might 
have  been  occupied  by  peasants  who  wrested 
mere  existence  from  a  barren  soil.  The  inn, 
which  was  pointed  out  to  us,  would  never 
have  been  recognized  as  such.  It  looked  more 
like  a  venerable  ruin.  In  an  American  town 
of  this  size  we  would  have  hesitated  before 


Copyright  hy  Underwood  4  ITnderwood 

The  ancient  Roman  theater  at  Orange       Page  88 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  87 

entering,  and  then  probably  would  have  turned 
away  in  despair  to  look  for  a  bakery  shop  to 
stay  the  pangs  of  hunger.  But  we  were  grow- 
ing familiar  with  the  small  French  towns. 
It  does  not  take  long  to  discover  that  a  hotel 
with  an  exterior  symbolizing  woe  and  want 
can  have  a  very  attractive  interior  at  lunch 
time. 

We  are  still  carrying  pleasant  memories  of 
that  lunch.  There  was  potage  St.  Germain, 
made  as  only  the  French  can  make  it.  The 
oil  for  the  salade  was  from  the  neighboring 
olive  groves  of  Provence.  The  haricots  verts 
picked  that  morning  in  the  garden,  the  raisins 
fresh  from  the  vineyard.  Best  of  all  were 
the  mushroom  patties.  One  portion  called 
for  another.  Our  hostess  was  pleased;  there 
was  no  mistaking  our  genuine  appreciation 
of  her  cooking.  Interrupting  her  culinary 
labors,  she  told  us  that  the  mushrooms  were 
of  her  own  canning.  Each  year  it  was  neces- 
sary to  lay  in  a  larger  supply.  Tourists  had 
found  them  so  good  that,  on  leaving,  they  had 
left  orders  for  shipment  to  their  home  addresses. 
Now  she  was  planning  to  erect  a  small  factory. 


88       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Her  recital  was  interrupted  by  a  Frenchman, 
who  implored  "une  troisieme  portion"  He 
purchased  a  dozen  cans  of  mushrooms,  and  if 
they  had  been  gold  nuggets  he  could  not  have 
stowed  them  away  more  carefully  in  his  car. 
The  French  are  authorities  when  it  is  a  question 
of  good  things  to  eat. 

The  road  to  Orange  was  like  a  continuous 
leafy  arbor.  This  shimmering  arcade  was  too 
refreshingly  cool  to  be  covered  quickly.  On 
the  outskirts  of  Orange  we  halted  to  see  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe,  a  wonderful  echo  from  the 
age  of  Tiberius.  The  arch  stands  in  a  circular 
grassy  plot  and  the  road  divides,  as  if  this 
product  of  the  Roman  mind  were  too  precious 
to  be  exposed  to  the  accidents  of  ordinary 
traffic. 

The  antique  theater  at  the  other  end  of  the 
town  is  just  as  remarkable  for  aichitectural 
splendor.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  this 
structure  is  the  largest  and  most  magnificent 
of  its  kind  in  the  world.  It  is  also  the  best 
preserved.  Every  year  in  August  dramatic 
and  lyrical  performances  are  given  by  La 
Comedie  Frangaise.    Thus,  after  nearly  twenty 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

Arc  de  Triomphe  at  Orange 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  89 

centuries,  the  theater  is  still  serving  its  original 
purpose.  We  were  impressed  by  the  auditory- 
facilities.  One  of  us  stood  on  the  lowest  tier 
of  seats,  and  the  other  on  the  topmost  row. 
Even  a  whisper  was  distinctly  audible.  The 
erection  of  buildings  with  such  perfect  acoustics 
may  perhaps  be  classed  among  the  lost  arts. 

Southward  from  Orange,  the  country  began 
to  look  more  like  Italy.  Olive  and  mulberry 
trees  were  more  numerous.  The  cypress  trees, 
so  often  seen  in  Italian  cemeteries,  gave  an 
impression  of  solemnity,  almost  of  melancholy, 
to  the  country.  At  times  they  fringed  the 
highway  or  stood  alone  upon  the  horizon 
like  a  distant  steeple  against  a  crimson  sunset. 

The  twilight  was  full  of  a  brooding,  dreamy 
silence  as  of  communion  with  the  past.  This 
is  the  atmosphere  of  Provence,  an  atmosphere 
of  "old,  forgotten,  far-off  things  and  battles 
long  ago."  If  one  is  interested  in  wonderful 
ruins  that  suggest  the  might  of  Rome's  empire, 
then  let  him  go  to  Provence,  that  part  of 
southern  France  where  the  Romans  founded 
their  provincia,  and  where  they  built  great 
cities.     We   found   the   hotels   rather   dreary. 


go       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

The  towns  were  quiet.  Many  of  them,  like 
Pierrelatte,  looked  so  poor.  The  streets  were 
dirty  and  littered.  One  notices  these  things 
at  first,  and  then  forgets  them,  the  air  is  so 
clear,  the  sunshine  so  dazzling,  the  horizons 
so  distinct,  the  stars  so  bright. 

Much  of  the  country  is  barren  and  rocky. 
But  the  rocks  as  well  as  the  ruins  have  a  rich, 
golden  brown  color  from  being  steeped  for 
centuries  in  this  bright  southern  sun.  The 
people  are  romantic,  impractical,  happy  in 
their  poverty,  singing  amid  grinding  routine. 
They  have  their  own  dialect,  which  is  very- 
musical .  Even  the  names  of  their  towns  and 
cities  are  full  of  music,  for  example,  Monte- 
limar,  Avignon,  Carcassonne.  The  country, 
with  its  Roman  ruins,  its  bright  sun,  its  rich 
color,  its  laughter,  and  song,  is  like  another 
Italy.  Nowhere  except  in  that  land  do  we 
come  so  close  to  the  great  things  of  Roman 
antiquity. 

We  reached  the  Grand  Hotel  in  Avignon 
at  nightfall,  but  dined  outside  that  we  might 
the  better  observe  the  life  of  the  people.  The 
sweet  voice  of  an  Italian  street  singer  made 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  91 

it  easy  for  us  to  imagine  ourselves  under  the 
skies  of  Florence  or  Naples.  Avignon  is  the 
most  Italian  looking  city  in  France. 

The  following  morning  was  devoted  to 
rambling.  Sometime  we  must  spend  a  week 
in  this  interesting  walled  city  on  the  Rhone, 
where  the  popes  lived  between  1305  and  1377 
in  the  huge  palace  that  resembles  a  fortress. 
If  there  were  nothing  to  Avignon  but  its  high 
mediaeval  walls  and  watch  towers,  the  place 
would  be  worth  a  long  pilgrimage.  These 
gray  ramparts,  apparently  new,  were  actually 
built  in  the  fourteenth  century.  What  a  pic- 
ture they  gave  us  of  stormy  feudal  times,  when 
even  the' Church  was  compelled  to  seek  safety 
behind  strong  walls! 

The  Palais  des  Papes  is  a  colossal  structure. 
We  have  forgotten  what  pope  it  was  who  was 
besieged  here  for  years  by  a  French  army,  and 
then  escaped  by  the  postern;  it  does  not 
matter.  The  palace  walls  looked  high  and 
thick  enough  to  defy  all  attack.  The  scenes 
of  vice  and  profligacy  during  this  period  must 
have  rivaled  the  court  life  of  an  ancient  Roman 
emperor.    There  was  one  pope,  John  XXII, 


92       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

who  in  eighteen  years  amassed  a  fortune  of 
eighteen  million  gold  florins  in  specie,  not  to 
mention  the  trifling  sum  of  seven  millions  in 
plate  and  jewels.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well 
for  the  popes  of  that  time  that  the  walls  of 
their  fortress  towers  were  high  and  thick. 

Above  the  palace  of  the  popes  and  the  adjoin- 
ing cathedral  is  the  Promenade  des  Doms,  a 
public  garden.  We  followed  one  of  the  paths 
that  led  along  the  edge  of  a  high  precipice. 
This  view  is  one  of  the  sights  of  Avignon.  It 
embraces  the  valley  of  the  Rhone,  the  swiftest 
river  in  France.  The  rapid  current  winds  and 
disappears.  Nearly  opposite,  on  the  other 
shore,  is  the  village  of  Villeneuve.  It  is  deso- 
late enough  now,  with  no  trace  of  the  beautiful 
villas  which  the  cardinals  built  and  where  they 
were  wont  to  revel  amid  luxury  after  the  day's 
duties  at  the  palace.  Beyond  the  town  we 
could  see  the  stately  towers  of  Fort  St.  Andre, 
in  that  early  period  a  frontier  fortress  of  France, 
so  jealous  of  the  growing  power  of  the  papacy. 
Most  appealing  of  all,  was  the  broken  bridge  of 
St.  Benezet,  resisting  with  its  few  remaining 
arches  the  hastening  Rhone.     Above  one  of  the 


CHAMBERY  TO  NIMES  93 

piers  is  the  little  Chapel  of  St.  Nicholas.  The 
bridge  is  a  romantic  relic  of  the  gay  life  of 
Avignon  when  the  city  was  the  refuge  of  the 
popes.  Daudet,  in  his  Lettres  de  tnon  Moulin, 
tells  us  that  the  streets  were  too  narrow  for  the 
farandole,  so  the  people  would  place  the  pipes 
and  tambourine  on  the  bridge  and  there,  in  the 
fresh  wind  of  the  Rhone,  they  would  dance  and 
sing. 

"Sur  le  pont  d' Avignon,  Ton  y  danse,   'on  y  danse; 
Sur  le  pont  d'Avignon,  l'on  y  danse  tous  en  rond." 

The  distance  to  Nimes  was  so  short  that  we 
decided  to  motor  there  for  lunch,  see  the  vast 
Roman  amphitheater  and  the  world-famous 
Maison  Carree,  and  then  push  on  to  Montpellier, 
where  we  planned  to  spend  the  night  and 
perhaps  remain  for  a  day  or  so. 

The  ride  was  more  memorable  for  the 
oppressive  heat  than  for  any  particular  charm 
of  scenery.  It  was  noon  when  we  crossed  the 
river  and  looked  back  for  a  last  view  of  the 
huge  Palais  des  Papes.  The  sun  blazed  upon 
the  white  road,  which  quivered  like  white  heat. 
There  were  few  trees.  The  engine  hood  was  so 
hot  that  we  could  not  touch  it.    It  would  not 


94       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

have  surprised  us  if  one  tire,  or  all  of  them,  had 
burst ;  they  probably  would  have  done  so  if  we 
had  gone  much  farther.  The  glare  was  so 
intense  that  we  entirely  overlooked  the  little 
octroi  station  on  the  edge  of  the  town.  We,  how- 
ever, were  not  overlooked.  Some  one  was  shout- 
ing and  waving  a  hundred  yards  behind  us.  It 
was  not  inspiring  vto  back  slowly  through  our 
own  dust  to  convey  the  valuable  information 
that  we  carried  nothing  dutiable.  Of  course,  at 
a  time  like  this,  the  engine  refused  to  start. 
After  vigorously  "cranking"  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  suffering  all  the  sensations  of  sun- 
stroke, we  moved  on  to  the  Hotel  du  Luxem- 
bourg for  dejeuner. 

Among  our  recollections  of  the  lunch  at  this 
hotel  were  the  ripe,  purple  figs.  There  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  confess  how  quickly  this 
delicious  fruit  disappeared.  Farther  north,  in 
Berlin,  such  figs  would  have  been  a  luxury,  and 
might  have  appeared  for  sale  at  a  fancy  price  in 
some  store  window.  In  Nimes  they  were  served 
as  a  regular  part  of  the  lunch.  We  could  almost 
have  traced  our  trip  southward  by  the  fruits 
that  were  served  us  from  time  to  time. 


CHAMBERY   TO  NIMES  95 

The  broad  boulevards  and  shady  avenues  of 
Nimes  form  a  small  part  of  the  attractions  of 
this  prosperous  city.  There  are  fine  theaters 
and  cafes,  especially  the  cafes  with  tables  and 
chairs  extending  into  the  streets  to  accommo- 
date the  crowds  of  thirsty  patrons.  It  was 
pleasant  to  be  a  part  of  this  typically  French 
environment,  to  watch  this  group  or  that,  with 
their  gestures,  shrugging  of  shoulders,  laughter, 
and  rapid  conversation.  Many  phases  of 
French  life  pass  before  so  advantageous  an 
observation  point. 

But  Nimes  is  not  simply  a  modern  city.  No- 
where else  in  France,  not  even  in  Orange,  does 
one  get  a  clearer  idea  of  what  the  splendor  of 
Roman  civilization  must  have  been.  Provincia 
was  a  favorite  and  favored  province  of  the 
empire ;  Nimes  was  the  center  of  provincial  life. 
For  five  centuries  the  different  emperors  took 
turns  in  enriching  and  embellishing  it.  We 
visited  the  Maison  Carree,  most  perfect  of 
existing  Roman  temples,  inspected  the  gateway 
called  the  Porte  d'Auguste,  looked  up  at  the 
Tour  Magne,  a  Roman  tower,  saw  the  remains 
of  the  Roman  baths,  and  then  made  our  way  to 

7 


96       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

the  amphitheater,  smaller  than  the  Colosseum 
but  so  wonderfully  preserved  that  you  simply 
lose  track  of  the  centuries.  The  great  stones, 
fitting  so  evenly  without  cement,  have  that 
same  rich,  golden  brown  color,  the  prevailing 
color  tone  of  Provence.  We  entered  the  amphi- 
theater through  one  of  many  arcades,  the  same 
arcades  through  which  so  many  generations  of 
toga-clad  Romans  had  passed  to  applaud  the 
gladiatorial  combats.  Now  the  people  go  there 
to  see  the  bull  fights  which  are  held  three  or 
four  times  a  year.  On  that  particular  after- 
noon a  large  platform  had  been  erected  for  the 
orchestra  in  the  middle  of  the  arena.  Open- 
air  concerts  are  very  popular  in  Nimes  during 
the  summer. 

It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  pass  from 
these  scenes  of  Roman  life  by  a  jump  into  a 
motor  car — the  amphitheater  illustrating  the 
grandeur  of  Rome's  once  imperial  sway,  the 
motor  car  symbolizing  the  spirit  of  our  rushing 
modern  age.     The  contrast  was  startling. 


CHAPTER  VI 

NIMES   TO   CARCASSONNE 

/T*HERE  was  abundance  of  time  to  arrive  in 
Montpellier  before  dark,  so  we  let  the 
speedometer  waver  between  thirty  and  thirty- 
five  kilometers.  The  road  was  hardly  a  model 
of  smoothness.  We  were  not  always  enthusias- 
tic about  the  roads  in  the  Midi.  On  the  whole, 
they  were  not  much  more  than  average,  and 
not  so  good  as  we  had  expected  to  find  them 
after  that  first  experience  on  the  Route  Na- 
tionale  to  Chambery.  Where  there  was  a  bad 
place  in  the  road  we  usually  saw  a  pile  of  loose 
stones  waiting  to  be  used  for  repair,  but  many 
of  these  piles  looked  as  though  they  had  been 
waiting  a  long  time.  The  roads  are  apparently 
allowed  to  go  too  long  before  receiving  atten- 
tion. Owing  to  the  increasing  amount  of  heavy 
traffic,  the  deterioration  in  recent  years  has 
been  more  rapid  than  formerly.  In  some  of  the 
provinces,  like  Touraine,  there  were  short 
stretches  of  roadway  in  urgent  need  of  repair. 
With  conditions  as  they  now  are,  the  money 

97 


98       EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

voted  by  the  government  is  insufficient  to  keep 
up  the  standard  of  former  years.  England  now 
expends  more  than  twice  as  much  per  mile  as 
France,  but  while  the  French  roads  are  in  dan- 
ger of  losing  to  England  the  supremacy  they 
have  so  long  enjoyed,  we  cannot  state  too  clearly 
that,  taken  as  a  whole,  they  are  still  the  finest 
on  the  Continent.  It  is  probable  that  the  pres- 
ent signs  of  decadence  are  only  temporary. 
The  government  is  fully  alive  to  the  needs  of  the 
hour.  In  all  probability  the  movement  headed 
by  President  Poincare  more  fully  to  open  up 
the  provinces  to  motor-tourist  travel  will  have 
a  good  effect  upon  road  conditions. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  small  French  city 
which  makes  such  a  pleasant  first  impression  as 
Montpellier;  there  is  such  an  atmosphere  of 
culture.  One  does  not  need  to  be  told  that  this 
is  a  university  town.  Municipal  affairs  seem  to 
be  well  regulated;  the  hotel  de  ville  would  do 
credit  to  a  much  larger  city.  We  discovered  an 
open-air  restaurant  located  upon  an  attractive 
place.  The  gar  con,  after  receiving  a  preliminary 
pourboire,  served  us  so  well  that  we  returned 
there  the  next  day. 


NIMES  TO  CARCASSONNE  99 

Everybody  who  visits  Montpellier  will  re- 
member the  Promenade  de  Peyrou  which  rises 
above  the  town.  The  scenic  display  is  great. 
Only  a  few  miles  away,  and  in  clear  view,  tosses 
the  restless  Mediterranean.  The  prospect  made 
us  realize  how  far  south  we  had  come  since  the 
starting  of  our  tour  from  Berlin.  Another  in- 
teresting bit  of  sight-seeing  in  the  neighborhood 
is  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  a  remarkable 
botanical  garden  which  was  founded  as  far  back 
as  1593  by  Henry  IV,  and  is  said  to  be  the 
oldest  in  France. 

Whatever  the  indictment  against  French 
roads  in  the  Midi,  the  stretch  from  Montpellier 
to  Carcassonne  was  above  reproach.  Much  of 
the  way  it  was  the  French  highway  at  its  best. 
Wide-spreading  trees  arched  our  route.  We 
would  have  been  speeding  every  foot  of  the  dis- 
tance if  the  beautiful  scenery  had  not  acted  as  a 
constant  brake.  For  a  little  way  we  ran  close 
to  the  sea.  The  fresh  salt  breeze  fanned  our 
faces.  It  was  a  rare  glimpse  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. This  enchanting  scene  lasted  but  a 
moment,  for  the  road  swerved  into  the  great 
vineyards  of  the  Midi,  an  Arcadian  land  of 


ioo      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

peace  and  plenty,  the  home  of  a  wine  industry 
celebrated  since  Roman  times.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  nothing  but  these  green  waves 
that  billowed  and  rolled  away  from  either  side 
of  the  road.  There  was  a  touch  of  fall  in  the 
air,  a  glint  of  purple  amid  the  green.  Ripening 
suns  and  tender  rains  had  done  their  work. 
The  road  led  through  Beziers,  bustling  center  of 
preparations  for  the  harvest.  On  several  occa- 
sions we  passed  a  wagon  loaded  with  wine  casks 
so  large  that  three  horses  with  difficulty  drew  it. 
The  capacity  of  those  huge  casks  must  have  been 
thousands  of  gallons. 

At  Beziers  we  could  have  taken  the  direct 
route  to  Toulouse,  but  then  we  would  have 
missed  seeing  Carcassonne,  the  most  unique 
architectural  curiosity  in  France  and  perhaps 
in  the  whole  world.  Our  roundabout  course 
brought  us  to  Capestang,  a  scattered  peasant 
village  inhabited  by  laborers  in  the  vineyards. 
The  luxuries  and  even  the  ordinary  conven- 
iences seemed  far  away  from  these  homes.  The 
shutters  consisted  of  nothing  but  a  couple  of 
boards  bolted  or  nailed  together  and  clumsily 
working  on  a  hinge.     It  was  a  region  of  flies; 


NIMES  TO  CARCASSONNE  101 

certainly  they  had  invaded  the  little  inn  where 
we  lunched.  A  heavy  green  matting  tried 
ineffectually  to  take  the  place  of  a  screen  door, 
and  let  in  thousands  of  unbidden  guests. 
Under  these  circumstances  our  lunch  was  a 
hasty  one.  As  the  noontide  heat  was  too  great 
to  permit  a  start,  we  gladly  accepted  the  invi- 
tation of  our  hotesse  to  see  the  church.  The 
cool  interior  induced  us  to  prolong  our  acquaint- 
ance with  the  sacred  relics  and  to  admire  with 
our  guide  a  statue  of  St.  Peter  whose  halo  had 
become  somewhat  dimmed  by  the  dust  of 
centuries. 

The  afternoon's  ride  to  Carcassonne  was  in 
the  face  of  a  strong  wind.  It  was  our  first 
experience  with  the  mistral,  a  curious  and 
disagreeable  phenomenon  of  Provence.  There 
was  no  let-up  to  the  storms  of  dust  it  swept 
over  us.  There  were  no  clouds;  simply  this 
incessant  wind  that  hurled  its  invisible  forces 
against  the  car,  at  times  with  such  violence 
that  we  were  almost  standing  still.  A  heavy 
rainstorm  would  have  been  preferable;  at 
least  we  would  not  then  have  been  so  blinded 
by  the  dust.     Occasionally  the  shelter  of  the 


102      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

high  hills  gave  a  brief  respite  from  the  choking 
gusts. 

All  at  once  we  forgot  about  the  wind.  In 
full  view  from  the  road  was  a  hill  crowned 
by  the  towers  and  ramparts  of  a  mediaeval 
city,  a  marvelous  maze  of  battlements,  frown- 
ing and  formidable  as  if  the  enemy  were 
expected  any  moment.  We  rode  on  to  la  mile 
basse,  the  other  and  more  modern  Carcassonne, 
a  little  checkerboard  of  a  city  with  streets 
running  at  right  angles  and  so  different  from 
the  usual  intricate  streets  of  mediaeval  origin. 
Securing  rooms  at  the  Grand  Hotel  St.  Bernard, 
we  hastened  back,  lest  in  the  meantime  an 
apparition  so  mirage-like  should  have  disap- 
peared. The  first  view  of  this  silent,  fortified 
city  makes  one  believe  that  the  imagination 
has  played  tricks.  There  is  something  fairy- 
like and  unreal  in  the  vision.  It  seems  impos- 
sible that  so  majestic  a  spectacle  could  have 
survived  the  ages  in  a  form  so  perfect  and 
complete. 

Carcassonne  had  always  been  one  of  our 
travel  dreams.  From  somewhere  back  in 
high-school  days  came  the  memory  of  a  French 


Copyright  by  I'nderwnnd  *  Underwood 

The  castle  and  double  line  of  fortifications  at  Carcassonne      Page  io^ 


NIMES  TO  CARCASSONNE  103 

poem  about  an  old  soldier,  a  veteran  of  the 
Napoleonic  wars,  who  longed  to  see  la  cite. 
One  day  he  started  on  his  pilgrimage,  but  he 
was  sick  and  feeble.  His  weakness  increased, 
and  death  overtook  him  while  the  journey 
was  still  unfinished.  He  never  saw  Car- 
cassonne. Since  that  time  we  had  wondered 
what  kind  of  place  it  was  that  had  made  such 
an  impression  upon  the  French  writers,  and 
induced  the  French  government  to  make  of 
it  a  monument  historique. 

At  that  moment,  as  we  climbed  the  hill, 
the  past  seemed  more  real  than  the  present. 
We  looked  for  armored  knights  upon  the  wall, 
and  listened  for  the  rattle  of  weapons,  the  sharp 
challenge  of  the  sentry.  Crossing  the  draw- 
bridge over  the  deep  moat,  we  were  conducted 
by  the  gardien  along  the  walls  and  through 
the  fighting-towers,  great  masses  of  masonry 
that  had  known  so  often  the  horrors  of  attack 
and  siege.  In  this  double  belt  of  fortifications 
there  were  sentinel  stations  and  secret  tunnels 
by  which  the  city  was  provisioned  in  time  of 
war.  Here,  was  a  wall  that  the  Romans 
had  built;  there,  a  tower  constructed  by  the 


io4     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Visigoths ;  and  all  so  well  preserved,  as  if  there 
were  no  such  thing  as  the  touch  of  time  or 
the  flight  of  centuries.  Other  places,  like 
Avignon,  show  the  military  architecture  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  but  it  is  the  work  of  a  single 
epoch.  The  defenses  of  Carcassonne  show 
all  the  systems  of  military  architecture  from 
Roman  times  to  the  fourteenth  century.  No- 
where in  the  world  can  be  found  such  a  perfect 
picture  of  the  military  defenses  of  the  eleventh, 
twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries.  The  walls 
and  the  huge  round  towers  tell  their  own  thrill- 
ing tales  of  Roman  occupation,  of  Visigothic 
triumph,  and  of  conquering  Saracen.  Then 
we  could  understand  why  the  old  French 
soldier  longed  to  see  Carcassonne,  and  why 
tourists  from  all  over  the  world  include  the 
city  in  their  itinerary  of  places  that  must 
be   visited. 

From  our  lofty  observation  point  on  the 
ramparts  there  was  visible  a  great  range  of 
country,  the  slender  windings  of  the  river 
Aude,  the  foothills  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  the 
vague  summits  of  the  Cevennes.  We  followed 
a  silent  grass-grown  street  to  the  church  of 


NIMES  TO  CARCASSONNE  105 

St.  Nazaire.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  win- 
dows of  rare  Gothic  glass  in  the  full  glow  of  the 
setting  sun.  Such  burning  reds,  such  brilliant 
blues  and  purples!  "C'est  magnifique  comme 
c'est  beau."  A  French  family  was  standing 
near  us.  Before  leaving  the  church,  we  looked 
back.  They  were  still  under  the  spell  of  that 
glory  of  color. 

There  may  have  been  an  elevator  in  the 
Grand  Hotel  St.  Bernard,  but  we  were  not 
successful  in  locating  it.  In  a  general  way, 
this  modest  hostelry  was  of  the  same  type 
which  one  finds  in  most  of  the  small  French 
cities  like  Valence  and  Avignon.  We  were  of 
course  greatly  interested  in  gathering  and 
comparing  impressions  of  provincial  hotel  life. 
This  was  particularly  interesting  in  a  country 
like  France,  where  the  provinces  with  their 
rural  and  small-town  life  represent  to  such  a 
marked  degree  the  nation  as  a  whole.  It 
is  always  an  instructive  experience  to  discover 
how  other  countries  live,  and  to  compare  their 
standard  of  living  with  our  own.  The  hotel 
life  of  any  country,  if  we  keep  away  from 
fashionable  tourist  centers,   usually  gives  an 


106      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

illuminating  insight  into  the  customs  of  that 
people.  We  had  often  noticed  that  the  French 
are  indifferent  to  matters  relating  to  domestic 
architecture.  So  long  as  the  kitchen  performs 
its  functions  well,  so  long  as  the  quality  of 
the  cuisine  is  above  criticism,  it  does  not  matter 
if  the  rooms  are  small  and  gloomy  or  if  the 
architect  forgets  to  put  a  bathroom  in  the 
house.  The  Frenchman  likes  to  dine  well.  The 
cafe  ministers  to  his  social  life.  But  with 
these  important  questions  settled  to  his  satis- 
faction, he  is  not  inclined  to  be  too  exacting 
about  his  domestic  environment. 

If  we  keep  in  mind  these  general  observations, 
it  will  be  easier  for  us  to  understand  the  defects 
and  advantages  of  the  French  provincial  hotel. 
Most  of  the  hotels  where  we  passed  the  night 
would  not  begin  to  compare,  in  many  ways, 
with  the  hotels  to  be  found  in  American  towns 
of  the  same  size.  We  noticed  a  characteristic 
lack  of  progressiveness  in  so  many  respects. 
It  was  exceptional  to  find  running  hot  and 
cold  water.  The  corridors  were  narrow  and 
gloomy,  the  electric  light  poor  for  reading. 
If  there  was  an  elevator,  it  usually  failed  to 


NIMES  TO  CARCASSONNE  107 

work.  Bathing  facilities  were  on  the  same 
primitive  scale.  The  attractions  of  the  writing 
room  were  conspicuous  for  their  absence. 
In  France  it  is  usually  the  writing  room 
that  suffers  most;  either  it  is  a  gloomy,  stuffy 
chamber,  more  fitted  to  be  a  closet  than  a 
place  for  correspondence,  or  else  located  with 
no  idea  of  privacy,  and  in  full  view  of  every- 
one coming  in  and  going  out.  There  were 
no  cheerful  lounging  or  smoking  rooms.  Had 
it  been  winter,  the  heating  facilities  would 
probably  have  left  much  to  be  desired,  and  we 
might  often  have  repeated  our  experience 
at  the  H6tel  Touvard  in  Romans.  It  was 
January,  and  very  cold.  Arriving  early  in 
the  afternoon,  we  found  that  our  rooms  had 
absorbed  a  large  part  of  the  frigidity  of  out- 
of-doors.  Complaints  were  fruitless.  We  were 
informed  that  it  was  not  the  custom  of  the 
hotel  management  to  heat  the  rooms  before 
seven  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

In  our  selection  of  hotels  we  followed  the 
advice  contained  in  the  excellent  Michelin 
Guide,  which  has  a  convenient  way  of  placing 
two  little  gables  opposite  the  names  of  hotels 


108      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

above  the  average.  While  they  were  not 
pretentious,  the  quality  of  service  was  sur- 
prisingly good.  We  could  always  get  hot 
water  when  we  wanted  it.  The  mattre  de 
Vhbtel  was  always  on  the  alert  to  render  our 
stay  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  to  give 
us  any  information  to  facilitate  sight-seeing. 
Most  of  the  hotels  had  electric  lights,  such  as 
they  were;  the  bedrooms  were  clean  and  com- 
fortable, the  cuisine  faultless.  If  it  be  true 
that  one  pays  as  high  as  two  francs  for  a  bath, 
that  is  because  bathing  among  the  French  is 
more  of  the  nature  of  a  ceremony  than  a  habit. 
As  for  the  small  and  neglected  writing  room,  we 
must  remember  that  in  France  the  cafe  usurps 
that  function  of  the  American  hotel.  This  is 
a  national  custom.  How  the  Frenchman  lives 
in  his  cafe!  Here  he  comes  before  lunch  for 
his  aperitif,  to  discuss  business  or  politics,  to 
write  letters,  to  read  the  newspapers  and  play 
games,  to  enjoy  his  tasse  de  cafe  after  lunch, 
and  in  summer  to  while  away  the  drowsy  hours 
of  the  early  afternoon  while  listening  to  open- 
air  music. 
It  was  pleasant  to  meet  in  Carcassonne  two 


NIMES  TO  CARCASSONNE  109 

American  students  from  Joliet,  Illinois,  who 
were  making  a  long  European  tour  on  ' '  Indian ' ' 
motor  cycles.  One  of  them  had  received  not 
less  than  six  punctures  the  preceding  day  and 
was  awaiting  in  Carcassonne  the  arrival  of 
another  tire.  He  was  beginning  to  be  a  little 
doubtful  about  the  perfect  joys  of  motor  cycling 
on  the  French  roads.  Neither  of  them  spoke 
French,  but  their  resourceful  American  gestures 
had  up  to  that  point  extricated  them  from 
situations  both  humorous  and  annoying. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CARCASSONNE   TO   TARBES 

/^UR  ride  toward  Toulouse  led  us  steadily 
^>^  into  southwestern  France  and  nearer  the 
Pyrenees.  From  time  to  time  the  landscape, 
with  its  fields  of  fodder  corn,  was  peculiarly 
American.  The  illusion  never  lasted  long;  a 
chateau  appeared  on  a  distant  hill,  or  a  six- 
teenth-century church  by  the  roadside,  and 
we  were  once  more  in  Europe,  with  its  ancient 
architecture  and  historical  association,  with  its 
infinite  change  of  scenery  and  life. 

Our  trip  never  grew  monotonous.  There 
was  always  the  element  of  the  unexpected. 
For  instance,  in  the  village  of  Villefranche  we 
rode  into  the  midst  of  a  local  fete.  Banners 
overhung  the  road;  flags  were  flying  from  the 
windows;  ruddy-cheeked  girls  in  gay  peasant 
dress  were  practicing  in  the  dusty  street  a 
rustic  two-step  or  farandole  in  preparation  for 
the  harvest  dance. 

While  entering  Toulouse  we  narrowly  escaped 
disaster.  It  was  not  late,  but  our  depleted 
no 


CARCASSONNE  TO  TARBES  in 

funds  made  it  necessary  to  reach  a  bank  before 
closing  time.  Suddenly  a  bicycle  rider  shot  out 
from  a  cross  street.  There  was  a  "whish"  as 
we  grazed  his  rear  wheel.  The  infinitesimal 
fraction  of  an  inch  means  a  good  deal  some- 
times. 

We  were  too  late;  the  banks  were  closed. 
The  next  day  was  a  business  holiday,  and  the 
following  day  was  Sunday.  Our  letter-of -credit 
would  not  help  us  before  Monday.  But  as 
luck  would  have  it,  we  were  able  to  discover  and 
fall  back  upon  a  few  good  American  express 
checks.  Our  hotel,  the  Tiviolier,  gave  us  a 
poor  rate  of  exchange,  but  almost  any  exchange 
would  have  looked  good  at  that  poverty- 
stricken  moment. 

Toulouse,  the  flourishing  and  lively  capital  of 
Languedoc,  is  a  city  of  brick  still  awaiting  its 
Augustus  to  make  of  it  a  city  of  marble.  The 
old  museum  must  have  been  a  splendid  monas- 
tery. We  dined  in  three  different  restaurants, 
and  fared  sumptuously  in  them  all.  The  cas- 
soulet  of  Toulouse  was  so  good  that  we  tried  to 
order  it  in  other  towns.  The  experiences  of  the 
day  very  fittingly  included  a  trolley  ride  along 
8 


ii2      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

the  banks  of  the  famous  Canal  du  Midi,  and  a 
visit  to  the  remarkable  church  of  St.  Sernin, 
considered  the  finest  Romanesque  monument 
in  France. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  not  to  make  an 
early  start  the  next  morning,  the  air  was  so 
keenly  exhilarating.  The  usually  turbid  Ga- 
ronne revealed  limpid  depths  and  blue  skies  as 
we  crossed  the  bridge.  The  road  dipped  into  a 
valley  and  then,  ascending,  spread  before  us 
imposing  mountain  ranges.  The  Pyrenees  were 
insight;  every  mile  brought  them  nearer.  The 
name  was  magical.  It  suggested  landscapes 
colorful  and  lovely,  strange  types  of  peasant 
dress,  songs  that  had  been  sung  the  same  way 
for  centuries,  exquisite  villages  that  had  never 
been  awakened  by  the  locomotive's  whistle. 
Range  retreated  behind  range  into  mysterious 
cloud  realms.  The  road  was  like  a  boulevard 
Parisien  under  the  black  bars  of  shadow  cast  by 
the  poplar  trees. 

At  St.  Gaudens,  where  we  stopped  before  the 
H6tel  Ferriere  for  lunch,  an  American  party 
was  just  arriving  from  the  opposite  direction. 
There  were  three  middle-aged  ladies  and  a 


■s  fti 


CARCASSONNE  TO  TARBES  113 

French  chauffeur  who  did  not  appear  to  under- 
stand much  English.  The  question  of  what 
they  should  order  for  lunch  was  evidently  not 
settled.  One  of  them  wished  to  order  potage 
St.  Germain.  Another  thought  it  would  be 
better  to  have  something  else  for  a  change, 
since  they  had  partaken  of  potage  St.  Germain 
the  preceding  day.  The  remaining  member  of 
the  party  was  sure  it  would  be  nicer  if  they 
saved  time  by  all  ordering  the  same  thing,  but 
did  not  suggest  what  that  should  be.  The 
chauffeur,  who  looked  hungry  and  cross,  merely 
contributed  a  long-suffering  silence  to  the 
conversation. 

Leaving  our  car  in  the  garage  and  our  sym- 
pathy with  the  unfortunate  chauffeur,  we  went 
in  to  give  appreciative  attention  to  a  well-served 
menu.  So  long  as  we  remained  in  France  we 
never  failed  to  order  sardines.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain quality  and  delicacy  about  the  flavor  of  the 
French  sardine  which  one  misses  outside  of  that 
country.  Coffee  was  served  outside,  under  the 
trees  in  front  of  the  hotel,  where  we  could 
watch  the  life  of  the  road.  St.  Gaudens  is  on 
the  main  highway  passing  through  the  Pyrenees 


ii4      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

to  Cannes  and  Nice  on  the  Riviera.  It  is  also 
the  central  market  for  the  fine  cattle  of  the 
Pyrenees,  and  for  their  sale  and  distribution  to 
other  parts  of  France  and  the  outside  world. 
We  could  see  them  swaying  lazily  along  the 
road,  big,  powerful  creatures  with  wide  horns 
and  glossy  skin. 

Descending  from  St.  Gaudens  into  the  plain, 
we  shot  along  the  highway  to  Montrejeau, 
where  there  was  a  steep  ascent  through  this 
bizarre  little  town,  very  Italian  looking  with  its 
arcaded  streets,  red  roofs,  and  brightly  painted 
shutters.  Then  the  moors  of  a  high  plateau 
swept  by  us  until  we  darted  downward  and 
curved  for  several  miles  through  a  beautiful 
wooded  valley. 

One  of  the  front  tires  was  evidently  in  trouble. 
It  was  our  first  puncture  in  more  than 
thirteen  hundred  miles  of  motoring,  not  a 
bad  record  when  one  considers  the  fre- 
quency of  such  accidents  on  European  roads, 
where  the  hobnails  of  peasants  lie  in  ambush  at 
every  turn.  We  halted  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
to  put  on  a  fresh  tire,  refusing  many  offers  of 
assistance  from  passing  cars. 


CARCASSONNE  TO  TARBES  115 

An  unusual  reception  awaited  us  near  Tour- 
nay.  The  whole  barnyard  family  had  taken 
the  road  for  their  private  promenade.  There 
were  a  couple  of  mules,  some  goats,  half  a 
dozen  geese,  and  a  large  white  bull.  He  was  a 
savage  looking  brute  as  he  stood  facing  us  and 
angrily  pawing  the  ground.  It  did  not  add  to 
our  composure  when  a  gaunt  collie,  awakened 
by  the  noise,  came  snarling  up  to  the  car.  At 
this  eventful  moment,  the  engine  stopped  run- 
ning. No  one  of  us  was  in  a  hurry  to  alight 
and  "crank  up."  The  barnyard  clamor  would 
have  rivaled  the  well-known  symphony  of  the 
Edison  Phonograph  Company  of  New  York 
and  Paris.  At  last  a  peasant  appeared.  He 
whistled  to  the  dog  and  succeeded  in  driving  the 
bull  to  one  side,  so  that  we  could  edge  by  to 
less  dangerous  scenes. 

The  standard  of  living  in  these  mountain  com- 
munities is  not  high.  We  saw  one  farmhouse 
where  the  goats  moved  in  and  out  as  if  very 
much  at  home  and  on  the  same  social  footing  as 
their  peasant  owners.  A  mile  farther  on,  we 
were  spectators  at  a  dance  which  the  peasants 
were  giving  along  the  roadside.     There  was  an 


n6  EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

orchestra  of  two  violins  and  a  cornet,  enthroned 
upon  a  wooden  platform  brightly  decorated 
with  flags  and  flowers.  A  dozen  couples  were 
dancing  up  and  down  the  road.  Wooden  shoes 
were  all  the  style.  This  unique  ballroom  floor 
impressed  us  as  being  rather  dusty.  Steep- 
sided  valleys  yawned  in  quick  succession. 
There  were  views  of  the  snowy  Pyrenees.  On 
the  side  of  a  mountain  we  caught  a  moment's 
glimpse  of  Tarbes  in  the  plain. 

The  Grand  Hotel  Moderne  was  a  happy  sur- 
prise. The  elevator  actually  worked,  and  the 
running  hot  and  cold  water  was  a  boon  delight- 
ful to  find  after  these  dusty  mountain  roads. 
Tarbes  is  chiefly  interesting  for  its  great 
horse-breeding  industry.  Barere,  the  regicide, 
described  by  Macaulay  as  coming  "nearer  than 
any  person  mentioned  in  history  or  fiction, 
whether  man  or  devil,  to  the  idea  of  consum- 
mate and  universal  depravity,"  was  born  here 
in  1755.  Tourist  traffic  has  found  Tarbes  to  be 
a  convenient  stopping  place  on  the  through 
route  from  Biarritz  on  the  Atlantic  to  the  winter 
resorts  of  the  Mediterranean  shores,  and  also  a 
natural  center  for  excursions  to  the  Pyrenees. 


Copyright  by  Cnderw I  &  1'iule 

Ice  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees 


CARCASSONNE  TO  TARBES  117 

We  remained  in  Tarbes  an  extra  day  to  make 
the  trip  to  Lourdes,  the  tragic  Mecca  for  in- 
creasing thousands  of  Catholic  pilgrims. 

A  short  half-hour's  ride  and  then  Lourdes, 
without  doubt  one  of  the  most  dismal  and 
melancholy  places  in  the  world.  We  are  cer- 
tain that  nothing  would  ever  draw  us  there 
again.  For  many,  the  trip  is  a  pilgrimage  of 
faith;  others  go  from  curiosity;  but  for  so 
many  suffering  thousands  the  miraculous  spring 
at  Lourdes  is  the  goal  of  anxious  hopes.  They 
gather  from  all  parts  of  France,  from  England, 
Scotland,  and  Ireland,  and  even  from  distant 
parts  of  Europe.  Last  year  there  were  over  six 
hundred  thousand  visitors.  Around  us,  on 
that  afternoon,  we  saw  the  sick  and  the  dying. 
Some  were  hobbling  along  on  crutches,  others 
walking  helplessly  with  sightless  eyes.  Many 
were  being  carried  on  stretchers,  and  there 
were  sights  that  we  would  rather  not  mention. 
It  seemed  as  if  all  the  diseases  to  which  mortal 
humanity  is  heir  were  represented  in  that 
pathetic  throng.  The  following  newspaper  ac- 
count describes  the  pilgrimage  which  left  Paris 
in  August,  1 9 13: 


n8  EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

"The  great  Austerlitz  Railway  station  in 
Paris  presented  a  strange  and  terrible  scene — 
and  above  all,  a  distressingly  pitiful  one — yes- 
terday afternoon,  when  the  annual  pilgrimage 
to  Lourdes  set  forth  on  the  long  journey  to  the 
little  Pyrenean  village.  During  last  night 
thirty-three  special  long  trains  converged  on 
Lourdes  from  every  quarter  of  France.  Every 
train  ran  slowly  because  of  the  many  sick  people 
on  board.  And  this  morning  all  the  trains  will 
reach  their  destination  and  will  discharge  their 
pilgrims  at  the  station  near  the  shrine. 

"From  two  to  four  o'clock,  the  greater  part 
of  the  Austerlitz  station  was  given  up  entirely 
to  the  pilgrims.  The  railway  servants  with- 
drew, and  their  places  were  taken  by  hundreds 
of  saintly  faced  Little  Sisters  of  the  Assumption, 
and  brave  men  of  all  ages  and  all  ranks  in  life, 
all  wearing  the  broad  armlet  that  denoted  their 
self-sacrificing  service  to  the  sick  and  helpless. 
One  by  one,  on  stretchers,  in  bath  chairs,  over  a 
thousand  suffering  people,  men  and  women  of 
all  ages,  youths  and  little  children,  entered  the 
great  hall  of  the  station. 

"Each,  as  he  or  she  is  brought  in,  is  laid  upon 


CARCASSONNE  TO  TARBES  119 

a  bench  transformed  into  an  ambulance,  to 
await  the  departure  of  the  train.  A  silence  that 
is  almost  oppressive  falls  upon  the  usually  noisy 
station;  people  speak  in  whispers,  and  move 
with  silent  feet. 

"Then  the  train — the  long  white  train  for 
the  grands  malades — moves  softly  in  to  the  plat- 
form, and  each  poor  human  parcel  is  gently 
convoyed  to  its  allotted  place.  Eventually,  the 
long  task  is  over,  and  then  came  the  last  mov- 
ing ceremony.  The  Cardinal  Archbishop  of 
Paris  passed  slowly  down  the  train  and  blessed 
the  sick  within  it.  A  moment  after,  without  a 
whistle  or  a  sound,  the  long  white  train  moved 
out. 

"Eight  other  equally  long  trains  followed,  the 
last  bearing  at  the  rear  the  Red  Cross  flag." 

We  watched  the  procession  forming  to  move 
toward  the  sacred  miraculous  spring,  such  a  sad 
procession, — the  halt,  the  rr.  aimed,  and  the 
blind,  who  had  come,  many  of  them,  thousands 
of  miles  to  bathe  in  the  icy  waters  and  be 
healed.  Attendants  passed  us,  carrying  a  sick 
man  on  a  stretcher;  the  eyes  were  closed,  the 
features  white  and  fixed.    We  saw  a  mother 


120      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

clasping  a  sick  child;  she  also  joined  the  slow, 
pitiful  procession.  Where  will  you  find  such 
a  picture  of  human  suffering!  It  was  all 
like  the  incurable  ward  of  a  vast  open-air 
hospital. 

The  fame  of  Lourdes  dates  back  to  1858,  when 
a  little  village  girl,  fourteen  years  old,  named 
Bernadette  Soubirons,  said  that  she  had  seen 
and  talked  with  the  Virgin.  This  happened 
several  times.  Each  time  the  Virgin  is  said 
to  have  commanded  the  child  to  tell  others, 
and  to  have  a  church  built  above  the  spring, 
since  its  waters  were  to  have  miraculous  powers 
of  healing.  Crowds  went  with  her  to  the 
grotto,  but  she  was  the  only  one  who  saw  any- 
thing. The  Bishop  of  Tarbes  believed  in  her 
visions.  The  fact  that  the  child  was  "diseased, 
asthmatic,  and  underfed,"  and  also  that  "she 
was  not  particularly  intelligent,"  did  not  make 
any  difference.  Pope  Pius  X  issued  a  Bull  of 
endorsement.  A  basilica  was  built  above  the 
grotto,  and  from  that  time  the  thousands 
kept  coming  in  increasing  numbers  every  year. 

We  noticed  that  not  all  of  the  visitors  to 
Lourdes  had  come  on  a  pilgrimage  of  faith. 


CARCASSONNE  TO  TARBES  121 

Everywhere  one  sees  signs  with  large  letters 
warning  against  pickpockets.  The  evidence  of 
business  enterprise  was  also  unmistakable. 
There  were  large  hotels;  one  long  street  was 
devoted  to  bazaars  for  selling  pious  mementos; 
the  windows  of  many  shops  contained  tin  cans 
of  all  sizes  for  sale,  these  to  be  filled  with 
Lourdes  water.  The  many  advertisements  of 
Lourdes  lozenges,  made  from  Lourdes  water,  and 
the  women  dressed  in  black,  sitting  at  the 
gates  of  the  garden  and  selling  wax  candles, 
all  helped  to  give  the  place  an  atmosphere 
of  commercial  enterprise. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TARBES   TO    BIARRITZ 

TJ^ROM  Tarbes  the  road  climbed  a  high  hill 
above  the  city  and  then  flung  its  marvel- 
ous coils  through  the  mountains  to  Pau,  that 
fashionable  English  resort  where  the  Pyrenees 
can  be  seen  marshaling  their  peaks  in  such 
grandeur.  The  country  around  Pau  looked  very 
English.  There  were  neat  villages  with  high- 
pitched  roofs,  spreading  trees,  and  a  feeling  of 
repose  in  the  scenery  very  characteristic  of  the 
large  English  estate.  With  almost  fantastic 
suddenness,  the  landscape  changed.  Peasant 
houses  showed  traces  of  Spanish  influence.  We 
saw  no  horses;  plows  and  country  carts  were 
drawn  by  bullocks.  Such  fine  looking  cattle  of 
the  Pyrenees,  hundreds  of  them!  It  seemed 
at  least  every  few  minutes  that  a  new  drove 
crowded  in  confusion  down  the  road  or  across  it, 
and  made  it  very  difficult  for  us  to  get  through. 
There  were  many  bulls.  One  hears  so  many 
exciting  tales  about  the  savage  bulls  of  the 
Pyrenees  that  we  were  prepared  for  an  attack 
at  almost  any  time. 

122 


TARBES  TO  BIARRITZ  123 

If  any  one  would  like  to  make  sure  of  having 
an  eventful  experience,  we  suggest  that  he 
motor  through  the  Pyrenees  in  a  red  car.  Other 
motor  cars  kept  the  dust  clouds  flying.  At  one 
railway  crossing  we  counted  ten  automobiles 
waiting  for  the  bar  to  be  lifted. 

A  score  of  hungry  motorists  were  lunching  in 
the  village  inn  of  Orthez  when  we  arrived.  One 
of  them,  a  Frenchman,  told  us  by  all  means  to 
see  the  curious  fortified  bridge  that  crosses  the 
Gave  in  this  village.  "C'est  tres  curieux.  C'est 
quelque  chose  h  voir! "  The  ruin,  with  the  high 
stone  tower  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  is  a 
thrilling  relic  of  the  religious  wars.  One  can 
see  the  tower  window  through  which  the  un- 
fortunate priests  and  friars  were  forced  by  the 
Protestants  to  leap  into  the  rapid  stream. 
Those  who  breasted  the  strong  current  were 
killed  as  they  climbed  out  on  the  banks. 

Bayonne  was  calling  us.  Our  speedometer 
registered  the  kilometers  so  quickly  that  there 
were  fully  two  hours  of  daylight  to  spare  when 
we  crossed  the  long  bridge  over  the  Adour  in 
search  of  the  Grand  Hotel.  One  street  led  us 
astray,  and  then  another,  until  we  were  in  the 


124      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

suburbs  before  discovering  our  mistake.  It 
was  a  fortunate  mistake,  for  we  were  here 
favored  with  a  view  of  the  fortifications  of 
Bayonne  and  the  ivy-covered  ruin  of  Marrac, 
the  chateau  where  Napoleon  met  the  Spanish 
king  Ferdinand  and  compelled  him  to  renounce 
the  throne  in  favor  of  his  brother  Joseph.  It  is 
one  of  the  strange  turnings  of  history  that  the 
same  city  where  Joseph  was  proclaimed  King  of 
Spain  should  have  witnessed,  six  years  later,  the 
downfall  of  his  hopes. 

Our  return  search  was  more  successful.  We 
found  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  then  were  half 
sorry  that  we  had  found  it.  The  hotel  was 
crowded,  the  only  chambre  placed  at  our 
disposal  not  large  enough  for  two  people.  An 
extra  cot  had  been  put  in  to  meet  the  emer- 
gency. The  room  was  gloomy,  and  opened  on 
a  stuffy  little  court.  Many  repairs  were  under 
way,  so  that  the  appearance  of  the  hotel  was 
far  from  being  at  its  best.  Had  it  not  been 
raining  heavily  we  would  have  gone  on  to 
Biarritz;  but  the  torrents  were  descending. 
For  one  night  we  submitted  to  the  inevitable 
and  to  the    inconvenience    of    our    cramped 


TARBES  TO  BIARRITZ  125 

quarters.  On  descending,  we  noticed  other 
tourists  still  arriving.  Possibly  these  new 
victims  were  stowed  away  in  the  elevator  or 
in  the  garage. 

Our  stay  in  Bayonne  was,  under  the  circum- 
stances, not  long,  but  long  enough  for  us  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  jambon  delicieux 
and  the  bonbons  for  which  the  city  is  so  well 
known.  After  paying  our  compte,  including  a 
garage  charge  of  two  francs, — the  first  which 
we  had  paid  since  leaving  Chambery, — we 
covered  the  few  remaining  kilometers  to  Biar- 
ritz, stopping  en  route  to  pick  up  ten  liters  of 
gasoline  in  order  to  avoid  the  more  extravagant 
prices  of  that  playground  for  Europe's  royalty 
and  aristocracy.  The  choicest  feature  of  our 
rooms  at  the  H6tel  Victoria  was  the  splendid 
outlook  upon  the  Atlantic  and  its  ever-changing 
panorama  of  sky  and  sea.  The  Spanish  season 
was  in  full  swing.  There  is  always  a  season  in 
the  golden  curve  of  Biarritz's  sunny  sands. 
The  Spanish  invasion  during  the  hot  summer 
months  is  followed  by  that  of  the  French,  when 
Parisian  beauties  promenade  in  all  the  voluptu- 
ous array  of  costly  toilettes.    For  a  couple  of 


126      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

months,  Paris  ceases  to  be  the  proud  capital  of 
French  animation  and  gayety.  During  the 
winter,  the  place  takes  on  the  appearance  of  an 
English  colony;  and  the  Russian  royal  family 
has  made  spring  a  fashionable  time  for  the 
invasion  from  that  country. 

The  charm  of  Biarritz  is  irresistible.  It  is 
easy  to  see  why  Napoleon  III  made  it  the  seat 
of  his  summer  court  and  built  the  Villa  Eugenie, 
which  has  since  become  the  Hotel  du  Palais.  If 
one  searched  the  whole  coast  line  of  Europe,  it 
would  be  hard  to  find  a  spot  so  rich  in  natural 
beauty.  The  sea  has  such  wide  horizons;  no 
matter  how  calm  the  weather,  the  snowy  surges 
are  always  rolling  on  the  Grande  Plage.  Other 
smaller  beaches  alternate  with  rugged,  rocky 
promontories.  The  coast  line  is  very  irregular, 
full  of  arcades,  caverns,  and  grottoes.  At  sun- 
set, when  the  wind  falls  and  the  air  is  clear,  the 
coast  of  Spain  appears,  the  mountains  respond 
to  the  western  glow,  and  the  low  cadence  of  the 
waves  makes  the  scene  too  wonderful  for  words. 

We  always  looked  forward  to  the  morning 
plunge  into  the  cool  breakers.  Eleven  o'clock 
was  the  popular  hour.     Then  the  Plage  was 


Copyright  by  Unde 

The  Grande  Plage  at  Biarritz 


TARBES  TO  BIARRITZ  127 

covered  with  brilliant  tent  umbrellas.  There 
were  the  shouts  of  the  bathers  as  the  green, 
foaming  combers  swept  over  them.  The  beach 
was  a  kaleidoscope  of  color  and  animation. 
Dark-eyed  senoritas,  carrying  brightly  colored 
parasols  and  robed  in  the  latest  and  most 
original  French  toilettes,  walked  along  the  shore. 
The  Spanish  women  are  very  fond  of  dress,  and 
especially  of  anything  that  comes  from  Paris. 
Often  the  breeze  would  sweep  aside  their  veils 
of  black  silk,  and  show  their  powder- whitened 
faces.  French  girls,  daintily  gowned  and  with 
complexions  just  as  "artistic,"  were  busy  with 
delicate  embroidery.  There  were  Basque  nurse- 
maids whose  somber  black-and-white  checker- 
board costumes  contrasted  with  the  latest  styles 
from  the  gay  metropolis.  All  types  were  there, 
from  the  portly  German  who  adjusted  his 
monocle  before  wading  into  the  frothy  brine,  to 
the  contemplative  Englishman  who  smoked  his 
pipe  while  watching  the  animated  scenes  around 
him.  Where  will  one  find  a  more  cosmo- 
politan glimpse  of  fashionable  Europe  in  the 
enjoyment  of  a  summer  holiday!  After  the 
plunge  comes  the  drying  off  on  the  warm  sands, 


128      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

or  the  walk,  bare-footed  and  in  bathrobe,  along 
the  Plage;  then  lunch  in  the  casino  res- 
taurant above  the  sea,  while  an  Italian  orchestra 
plays  music  that  one  likes  to  hear  by  the  ocean. 
For  our  tasse  de  cafe  we  would  choose  one  of 
the  cafes  along  the  crowded  avenue  Bellevue. 
What  a  display  of  wealth  and  fine  motor  cars! 

On  one  of  these  occasions  we  saw  the  young 
King  of  Spain  stop  his  Spanish  car  before  one  of 
the  stores.  He  was  bareheaded,  and  was  driv- 
ing his  own  car.  One  of  his  officers  sat  with 
him.  The  king  is  a  keen  sportsman,  and 
motoring  is  one  of  his  favorite  diversions. 
Under  the  reign  of  this  popular  and  aggressive 
young  monarch  there  ought  to  be  great  progress 
in  the  improvement  of  the  Spanish  roads  and  in 
the  opening  of  Spain's  scenic  wealth  to  the 
tourist  world.  Toward  the  close  of  the  after- 
noon every  one  went  to  the  beautiful  casino 
to  enjoy  the  concert  and  une  tasse  de  the,  and 
then  later  in  the  evening  to  watch  the  brilliant 
spectacle  of  dress  and  gayety. 

The  interesting  places  around  Biarritz  are 
part  of  its  attraction.  If  we  had  stayed  there 
for  months,  there  could  have  been  an  excursion 


TARBES  TO  BIARRITZ  129 

for  each  day.  Placed  beside  the  ocean,  at  the 
foot  of  the  Pyrenees,  close  to  the  Spanish 
frontier  and  amid  the  fascinating  Basque 
country  where  the  people  have  retained  all  their 
primitive  ways  and  quaint  dress,  Biarritz 
makes  an  ideal  center  for  one-day  trips.  The 
excursion  which  we  enjoyed  most  was  to  the 
Spanish  resort  of  San  Sebastian,  a  modern  sea- 
side town  where  the  king  and  queen  pass  the 
summer  in  their  splendid  Villa  Miramar. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   DAY   IN   SPAIN 

'T^HERE  is  always  a  thrill  about  motoring 
for  the  first  time  in  a  new  country.  We 
had  long  looked  forward  to  crossing  the  Spanish 
frontier  and  visiting  the  summer  capital  of  King 
Alfonso  XIII.  It  was  a  ride  of  about  thirty 
miles,  far  too  short  for  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing sweeps  of  country  to  be  found  anywhere  in 
Europe. 

There  was  plenty  of  variety.  This  Basque 
country,  forming  a  triangular  corner  of  northern 
Spain  and  reaching  over  into  France,  is  full  of  it. 
The  people  speak  a  dialect  which  is  as  much  a 
puzzle  to  Spanish  as  to  French.  Until  less  than 
half  a  century  ago,  they  had  retained  their  inde- 
pendence. Proud  of  their  history,  and  claiming 
to  be  the  oldest  race  in  Europe,  they  still  cling 
to  their  language  and  hold  to  their  ancient 
customs,  their  dances,  songs,  and  pastoral 
plays.  In  this  region  of  valleys  and  mountains 
we  were  always  within  sight  or  sound  of  the  sea, 
the  road  approaching  a  smooth,  white  beach 
130 


A   DAY  IN  SPAIN  131 

washed  with  foam,  or  sinking  into  a  quiet  valley 
drowsy  with  the  faint  monotone  of  the  waves. 

A  few  miles  before  reaching  Spain  is  the  old 
seaside  town  of  St.  Jean-de-Luz,  once  the  winter 
headquarters  of  Wellington  and  now  buried  in 
the  shade  of  its  venerable  trees.  The  life  in  this 
little  village  of  only  four  thousand  people  was 
not  always  so  simple  as  it  is  now.  Louis  XIV 
was  a  frequent  visitor,  with  his  courtiers.  One 
can  see  the  chateau  where  the  "Grand  Mon- 
arque  "  lodged  at  the  time  of  his  marriage  to  the 
Infanta  Marie  Therese  of  Spain  on  June  9,  1660. 
Another  page  from  this  gorgeous  period  is  the 
church  of  St.  Jean  Baptiste,  where  the  ceremony 
took  place.  Following  the  Basque  custom,  the 
upper  galleries  are  reserved  for  the  men,  while 
the  area  below  is  reserved  for  the  women. 

On  reaching  the  Franco-Spanish  frontier 
village  of  Behobie  a  French  officer  appeared 
and,  after  he  had  entered  the  necessary  de- 
tails in  his  book,  allowed  us  to  cross  the 
bridge  over  the  Bidassoa  River  into  Spain. 
This  part  of  the  town  is  called  Behobeia.  It  is 
a  unique  arrangement,  this  administration  of 
what  is  practically  one  and  the  same  town  by 


i32      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

two  different  countries.  Yet  the  difference 
between  Behobie  and  Behobeia  is  as  great  as 
the  difference  between  France  and  Spain.  The 
houses  across  the  river  began  to  display  the 
most  lively  colors.  It  would  have  been  hard  to 
say  whether  browns,  pinks,  blues,  or  greens  pre- 
dominated. Some  of  the  people  wore  blue 
shoes.  Red  caps  were  the  style  for  cab  drivers. 
Of  course  we  looked  around  for  some  of  our 
"castles  in  Spain,"  but  saw  instead  the  Spanish 
customhouse.  An  official  came  out,  modestly 
arrayed  in  more  than  Solomon's  glory.  He 
wore  red  trousers,  yellow  hose,  and  blue  shoes, 
and  looked  as  though  in  more  prosperous  days 
he  might  have  been  a  matador.  We  had  for- 
gotten to  bring  along  a  fluent  supply  of  Spanish. 
The  oversight  caused  us  no  inconvenience. 
French  is  sufficient  to  carry  one  through  any 
matter  of  official  red  tape. 

One  hears  many  reports  about  the  difficulty 
of  passing  the  Spanish  customhouse,  the  severity 
of  the  examination,  of  the  long  delays.  At  our 
hotel  in  Biarritz  they  told  us  that  the  only  safe 
way  would  be  to  pay  eight  francs  to  a  private 
company  on  the  French  side  of  the  frontier,  and 


A  DAY  IN  SPAIN  133 

that  with  the  passavant  so  obtained,  together 
with  our  triptyque,  we  would  not  only  secure 
prompt  service  but  also  make  this  company 
responsible  for  our  safety  while  in  Spain.  So 
much  solicitude  made  us  wonder  just  what  per- 
centage of  our  eight  francs  would  be  received 
by  this  hotel  proprietor,  so  we  decided  to  cross 
the  frontier  without  the  much  advised  passavant. 

These  warnings  proved  to  be  exaggerated. 
The  delay  was  not  greater  than  it  would  have 
been  in  France  or  Germany.  The  douaniers 
were,  nevertheless,  keenly  alert  to  prevent  the 
smuggling  of  motor  supplies  for  purposes  of  sale 
in  Spain.  These  articles  are  much  more  expen- 
sive in  Spain  than  elsewhere  in  Europe.  The 
number  of  our  tires  was  noted,  so  that  the 
officials  could  make  sure  that  we  carried  the 
same  number  of  tires  out  of  the  country. 
Another  arrangement,  new  to  us,  was  the 
method  of  ascertaining  how  much  the  gasoline 
duty  would  be.  The  amount  of  gasoline  in  the 
tank  was  calculated  by  depth  only  and  not  by 
capacity. 

A  hundred  fascinating  scenes  of  Spanish 
country  life  attracted  our  attention.     Peasant 


i34     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

women,  evidently  returning  from  market,  be- 
straddled  patient  little  donkeys,  or  walked, 
balancing  on  their  heads  burdens  of  various 
kinds.  One  of  them  carried  a  baby  under  one 
arm,  a  pail  filled  with  wine  bottles  under  the 
other,  and  all  the  time  preserved  with  her  head 
the  equilibrium  of  a  basket  piled  several  stories 
high  with  household  articles.  We  would  not 
have  been  greatly  surprised  to  see  another  baby 
tucked  away  somewhere  in  the  top  story. 
These  peasant  types  looked  bent  and  worn, 
their  wrinkled  faces  old  from  drudging  toil  in  the 
fields;  they  fitted  in  perfectly  with  the  dilapi- 
dated farmhouses.  The  country  was  fertile, 
with  vineyards  and  cornfields,  but  a  prosperity 
in  such  contrast  with  the  wretched  homes  of  the 
people.  Little  donkeys  strained  in  front  of 
heavily  loaded  wagons  that  would  have  taxed 
the  strength  of  a  large  horse.  The  ox  carts 
were  curious  creations,  the  wheels  being  with- 
out spokes,  as  though  made  from  a  single  piece 
of  flat  board.  The  small  chimneys  on  the  houses 
resembled  those  which  we  had  seen  in  Italy.  We 
did  not  see  a  single  plow,  not  even  a  wooden 
one;  the  peasants  of  the  Basque  country  use 


I  &  Underwood 


The  ox-rnrts  were  curious  creations 


A  DAY  IN  SPAIN  135 

instead  the  laga,  or  digging  fork,  an  imple- 
ment shaped  like  the  letter  "h." 

San  Sebastian  is  a  clean,  fresh-looking  city,  a 
place  essentially,  almost  exaggeratedly,  Span- 
ish, with  all  that  gayety  and  vivid  architecture 
which  one  naturally  expects  to  see  in  a  place 
patronized  by  the  royal  court.  It  was  hopeless 
to  think  of  finding  a  place  for  our  car  in  any 
garage.  They  were  all  full.  This  was  the  day 
of  the  bull  fight.  From  different  parts  of  Spain, 
as  well  as  from  France,  motorists  had  swarmed 
in  to  see  the  matadors  show  their  skill  and 
daring.  In  Spain  the  people  divert  themselves 
at  the  bull  fight  very  much  as  we  would  go  to 
see  a  baseball  game.  We  saw  motor  cars 
stationed  in  long  files  in  the  streets. 

Leaving  our  car  to  stand  in  the  rear  of  one  of 
these  imposing  lines,  we  strolled  down  a  bright, 
picturesque  street  to  the  Concha.  Just  as  La 
Grande  Plage  represents  Biarritz,  so  the  Concha 
represents  San  Sebastian.  "Concha"  suggests 
a  bay  shaped  like  a  shell.  The  word  exactly 
describes  the  beautiful  body  of  water  around 
which  the  city  is  built.  Through  the  narrow 
channel    we    could   see    the    waves    roll    in, 


i36      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

contracted  at  first,  then  widening  as  they  sweep 
down  the  bay  to  break  on  the  long,  curving 
stretch  of  yellow  sand.  From  the  Concha  we 
could  see  the  white  walls  of  the  royal  Villa 
Miramar.  The  fortress  La  Mota  guarded  from 
its  high  elevation  the  narrow  entrance  to  the 
harbor.  We  walked  along  the  Paseo  de  la 
Concha,  in  the  dense  shade  of  tamarisk  trees 
which  nearly  encircled  the  bay.  Sitting  in 
chairs  under  the  trees  were  Spanish  girls,  their 
dark  eyes  glowing  through  their  black  lace 
veils.  The  scene  was  full  of  color,  completely 
Spanish,  the  green  of  the  tamarisks  shining 
between  the  golden  sands  and  the  white  villas 
which  edged  the  water.  We  watched  the 
bathers,  haughty  dons  from  Madrid  and 
peasants  from  Aragon,  for  the  moment  on  a 
level  in  the  joyous  democracy  of  the  surf. 

After  lunching  at  the  Continental  Hotel, 
fronting  on  the  Concha,  we  turned  our  steps  in 
the  direction  of  the  amphitheater,  where  the 
bull  fight  was  to  take  place.  The  tickets  cost 
twelve  pesetas  (about  $2.40)  apiece.  It  was  not 
with  any  anticipation  of  pleasure  that  we 
decided  to  watch  the  Spaniards  engage  in  their 


A   DAY   IN  SPAIN  137 

national  sport.  The  bull  fight  is  a  combination 
of  a  scene  from  the  Chicago  stockyards  and 
from  an  ancient  Roman  arena.  It  is  a  succes- 
sion of  shivers  and  thrills,  from  the  first  blast 
of  the  trumpet  announcing  the  entry  of  the 
toreadors  to  the  final  estocade,  when  the  last  bull 
falls  dying  upon  the  bloody  sand.  Few  of  the 
toreadors  die  a  natural  death.  Connected 
with  the  large  amphitheater  is  the  operating 
room,  where  the  wounded  fighters  can  receive 
prompt  treatment.  We  were  told  that  it  is 
customary  for  them  to  receive  the  sacrament 
before  entering  into  the  arena.  Their  coolness 
and  dexterity  in  sidestepping  the  mad  rushes  of 
the  bull  are  wonderful.  But  the  moment  comes 
when  the  bull  is  unexpectedly  quick,  when  the 
foot  slips  just  a  little,  or  when  the  eye  misjudges 
the  precious  fraction  of  an  inch  which  may 
mean  life  or  death.  We  noticed  at  regular 
intervals,  around  the  arena,  wooden  barriers, 
placed  just  far  enough  from  the  main  encircling 
barrier  to  let  the  hard-pressed  toreador  slip  in, 
when  there  was  no  time  to  vault. 

These  exhibitions  take  place  all  over  Spain, 
and  in  San  Sebastian  at  least  once  a  week. 


138      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

There  is  keen  rivalry  between  Spanish  cities 
over  the  skill  of  their  toreadors.  Bull  righting 
is  not  on  the  decline.  The  city  of  Cordova  has 
just  started  a  school  for  the  training  of  profes- 
sional bull  fighters. 

When  we  arrived  the  amphitheater  was 
crowded  to  the  highest  tier  of  seats.  The  vast 
crowd,  impatient,  whistled  and  shouted.  At- 
tendants passed  among  the  spectators,  selling 
Spanish  fans  painted  with  bull-fight  scenes. 
The  large  orchestra  was  playing.  Suddenly, 
above  the  music  and  the  noise  of  the  crowds, 
sounded  the  piercing  blast  of  a  trumpet.  The 
music  ceased.  The  crowd  became  silent,  then 
cheered  and  clapped  as  doors  swung  open  and 
two  horsemen  dashed  out  and  made  the  tour  of 
the  arena.  They  were  followed  by  a  procession 
of  toreadors,  picadores,  and  banderilleros,  with 
their  attendants.  The  picadores  were  armed 
with  long  pikes  with  which  to  enrage  the  bull. 
They  were  mounted  on  wretched  skeletons  of 
so-called  horses,  with  one  eye  blindfolded.  Six 
bulls  were  to  battle  with  their  tormentors  before 
finally  falling,  pierced  by  the  toreador's  sword. 
Three  or  four  horses  are  usually  killed  by  each 


A  DAY  IN  SPAIN  139 

bull.  The  banderilleros  appear  in  the  second 
phase  of  the  struggle,  after  the  horses  have  been 
killed.  They  are  on  foot.  Their  work  is  to 
face  the  bull,  infuriated  by  the  pikes  of  the 
picador  es,  and  to  plant  in  his  neck  several  darts, 
each  over  two  feet  long  and  decorated  with 
ribbons.  The  toreador  comes  on  the  scene  the 
last  of  all,  when  the  bull,  though  tired,  is  still 
dangerous.  It  would  be  a  mistake  to  imagine 
that  the  bulls  are  spiritless,  or  have  been  so 
starved  that  they  are  weak,  without  strength, 
energy,  and  courage.  These  animals  that  we 
saw  leap  into  the  arena  were  all  specially  bred 
Andalusian  bulls,  the  very  picture  of  strength 
and  wild  ferocity. 

We  have  no  desire  to  describe  in  detail  the 
barbarous  spectacle  which  followed.  In  front 
of  us  sat  an  American  couple.  It  was  the  lady's 
first  bull  fight,  and  when  the  moment  was  crit- 
ical, the  scene  a  gory  confusion  of  bull,  horses, 
and  picadores,  she  would  scream  and  hide  her 
face  behind  her  fan.  In  contrast,  were  the 
Spanish  girls  seated  around  us.  Their  faces 
were  whitened  more  by  powder  than  by  emo- 
tion.   They  would  languidly  move  embroidered 


i4o      EUROPE  FROM  A   MOTOR  CAR 

fans,  or  wave  them  with  gentle  enthusiasm 
when  the  banderillero  planted  a  daring  dart  or 
the  toreador  thrust  home  the  death  stroke. 

There  was  one  moment  in  that  exhibition, 
however,  when  even  their  hardened  indifference 
to  suffering  was  touched.  One  of  the  bande- 
rilleros  planted  his  dart  in  the  neck  of  the  bull, 
but  slipped  while  trying  to  get  away  from  the 
enraged  beast.  There  was  a  cry  of  horror,  a 
groan  of  pity  from  the  crowd  as  the  great  armed 
head  lifted  its  victim  and  hurled  him  thirty 
feet  through  the  air.  The  man  struck  heavily 
on  the  sand,  moved  a  little,  and  then  lay 
motionless.  There  was  no  shouting  at  that 
moment.  An  agony  of  suspense  pervaded  the 
amphitheater.  But  the  bull  was  given  no 
opportunity  to  follow  up  his  attack;  a  toreador 
waved  a  red  cape  before  his  eyes ;  another  dart 
was  planted  in  his  neck.  He  turned  savagely 
to  face  and  charge  on  his  new  assailants,  who 
nimbly  avoided  his  rush.  The  wounded  man 
was  carried  from  the  arena.  The  enthusiasm 
and  cheers  of  the  crowd  were  unbounded  when 
he  revived  and  struggled  with  the  attendants  to 
get  back  into  the  arena. 


Copyright  by  U 

The  death  stroke 


A  DAY  IN  SPAIN  141 

After  all,  human  nature  has  changed  but  little 
under  these  southern  skies,  so  that  what  the 
plebeian  sought  in  the  gladiatorial  combats  of 
the  amphitheater,  the  Spaniard  or  Frenchman 
of  to-day  seeks  and  finds  in  the  bloody  scenes 
of  the  course  de  tauraux. 

We  left  early  to  get  a  start  of  the  rush  of 
motor  cars  for  the  French  frontier,  but  others 
had  done  the  same  thing,  so  that  by  the  time 
the  Spanish  authorities  had  stamped  our 
sortie  definitive,  we  found  the  international 
bridge  filled  with  cars,  all  impatiently  waiting 
to  take  their  turn  at  the  French  douane.  Then 
amid  a  whirl  of  dust  and  a  blowing  of  horns, 
car  after  car  leaped  for  the  homeward  flight. 
Ahead  of  us  and  behind  us,  cars  of  every  make, 
motor  horns  of  every  variety.  The  dust  fog  was 
continuous.  Every  one  seemed  racing  to  get 
out  of  it.  It  was  a  likely  place  for  an  accident. 
There  was  the  wind-smothered  shriek  of  a  horn 
as  a  French  racer  shot  by  to  lead  the  exciting 
procession.  Farther  ahead,  the  road  turned 
sharply,  and  we  stopped  to  find  thirty  or 
forty  cars  held  up  at  a  railway  crossing.  One 
of  them  was  the  French  racer;  officers  were 


i42      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

taking  her  number.  It  was  growing  dark,  and 
we  lighted  our  lamps.  Looking  back  from  the 
summit  of  a  long  hill,  we  could  see  the  lights  of 
other  cars  swiftly  ascending  around  the  curves. 
The  wind  was  rising.  Through  the  twilight 
came  the  dull  roaring  of  heavy  surf.  A  revolv- 
ing beacon  light,  appearing  and  then  disappear- 
ing, announced  that  we  were  once  more  in 
Biarritz. 


CHAPTER  X 

BIARRITZ   TO   MONT-DE-MARSAN 

/^VUR  three  days  in  Biarritz  had  grown  to 
^^^  three  short  weeks  before  we  were  able  to 
break  the  spell  of  the  alluring  Grande  Plage 
and  shape  our  course  in  a  northeasterly  direc- 
tion, along  the  foothills  of  the  Pyrenees, 
through  the  picturesque  regions  of  Perigord 
and  Limousin  to  Tours  and  the  chateaux 
country.  Bayonne,  the  fortress  city,  looked 
peaceful  enough  with  its  tapering  cathedral 
spires  rising  above  the  great  earthen  ramparts, 
now  grassgrown  and  long  disused  to  war.  Not 
far  from  Bayonne  the  road  forked;  we  were  in 
doubt  whether  to  continue  straight  on  or  to 
turn  to  the  left.  A  group  of  workingmen  near 
by  ceased  their  toil  as  we  drew  near  to  ask  for 
information.  The  answer  to  our  question  was 
very  different  from  what  we  expected.  One  of 
them  approached  the  car,  brandishing  a  scythe 
in  a  manner  more  hostile  than  friendly,  and 
asked  if  we  were  Germans.  This  question  con- 
cerning our  nationality  came  with  all  the  force 

10  143 


i44     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

of  a  threat.  The  restless  scythe  cut  a  nearer 
airy  swath.  He  had  recognized  the  German 
make  of  our  car,  and  was  convinced  that  we 
belonged  to  the  hated  nation  allemande.  A 
German  motor  car  is  not  the  safest  kind  of  an 
introduction  to  these  French  peasants,  espe- 
cially when  the  vin  du  pays  has  circulated  freely. 
If  appearances  counted  for  anything,  this  par- 
ticular peasant  was  quite  inclined  to  use  his 
scythe  for  more  warlike  purposes  than  those  for 
which  it  was  originally  intended.  But  his 
companions,  more  peaceably  disposed,  seizing 
him,  drew  him  back  from  the  car  and  gave  us, 
although  reluctantly,  the  necessary  information. 
It  was  not  our  first  experience  of  this  kind. 
In  France  there  is  ;a  strong  sentiment  against 
Germany.  Our  German  car  was  often  the 
target  for  unfriendly  observation.  This  fierce 
ill  feeling  appears  to  be  increasing.  Never 
since  the  war  of  1870  has  there  been  such  a 
period  of  military  activity  in  the  two  countries. 
Germany  is  raising  her  army  to  a  total  of  nearly 
nine  hundred  thousand  men,  at  an  initial  cost 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  million  dollars,  and 
a   subsequent    annual    cost    of    fifty    million 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN    145 

dollars.  France  has  decided  to  meet  these 
warlike  preparations  by  keeping  under  the 
colors  for  another  year  the  soldiers  whose 
term  of  service  would  have  expired  last  fall. 
This  measure  adds  about  two  hundred  thousand 
soldiers  to  the  fighting  strength  of  the  French 
army.  This  increase  of  armament  involves 
necessarily  the  admission  of  the  increase  of 
suspicion  and  antagonism. 

At  such  a  time  of  tension  and  suspense  it 
was  for  us  a  rare  privilege  to  motor  through 
the  French  provinces,  to  stop  in  the  small 
towns  and  villages  and  to  hear  from  the  lips 
of  the  people  themselves  an  expression  of  their 
attitude  toward  Germany.  Rural  France  is 
conservative;  opinions  and  ideas  form  slowly, 
yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  their 
views  represent  the  sentiment  of  the  French 
nation  which  is  so  largely  agricultural.  No 
feature  of  our  long  tour  through  France  was 
more  instructive  than  this  opportunity  to 
study  at  first  hand  the  influences  at  work  to 
widen  the  gulf  between  the  two  nations.  We 
conversed  with  soldiers,  officers,  peasants  in 
the  fields,  and  casual  French  acquaintances 


i46      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

whom  we  met  in  the  cafes  and  hotels.  Every 
one  admitted  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  and 
said  that  nothing  short  of  the  actual  shadow 
of  German  invasion  could  have  induced  France 
to  submit  to  the  tremendous  sacrifices  incident 
to  the  large  increase  of  the  army. 

The  enthusiasm  with  which  France  has 
consented  to  the  enormous  sacrifices  entailed 
by  increasing  the  army  on  so  large  a  scale 
shows  how  widespread  is  the  impression  of 
impending  conflict.  France  realizes  that  there 
is  only  one  way  to  prevent  war,  and  that  is  to 
be  so  strong  that  Germany  will  hesitate  to 
take  the  fatal  step.  There  have  been  past 
menaces  of  invasion,  and  while  it  is  true  that 
Germany  has  not  made  war  for  over  forty  years, 
she  has  repeatedly  threatened  it.  William  I 
and  Moltke  wanted  to  attack  France  in 
1874  and  again  in  1875,  before  she  had  recov- 
ered from  the  effects  of  1870,  to  make  it 
impossible  for  her  again  to  become  a  power 
of  the  first  rank.  Russia  and  England  sup- 
ported France;  Germany  drew  back  to  wait 
for  another  chance.  Professor  Lamprecht,  the 
great  German  historian,  regrets  that  Germany 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN    147 

did  not  hurl  her  armies  against  France  at  that 
time.  In  the  Delcasse  crisis  of  1905  France 
was  again  threatened.  We  know  now  that 
the  Morocco  negotiations  between  France  and 
Germany  in  191 1  kept  Europe  on  the  verge 
of  war  for  months. 

This  movement  toward  a  more  vigorous 
expression  of  French  national  spirit,  while 
gathering  strength  for  the  last  ten  years, 
actually  dates  from  the  sending  of  the  gun- 
boat Panther  to  Agadir  in  191 1.  This  was 
the  igniting  spark.  It  was  in  that  moment 
that  the  French  nation  found  itself.  The 
generation  that  lived  through  and  followed 
the  disastrous  war  of  1870  was  saddened  and 
subdued.  There  was  little  of  that  spirit  of 
national  self-confidence ;  politics  played  a  larger 
role  than  patriotism.  But  now  a  new  genera- 
tion is  to  the  front.  Young  France  is  coming 
into  power,  and  the  result  is  a  rebirth  of  self- 
confidence  and  aggressiveness  along  patriotic 
lines.  It  will  no  longer  be  possible  for  Germany 
to  be  successful  in  a  policy  of  intimidation 
against  France,  as  she  was  in  the  Congress 
of   Berlin  in   1878.     The  new  France  is  too 


t 


148      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

patriotic,  too  proud,  too  conscious  of  her  own 
strength,  to  concede  to  any  unreasonable 
demand  for  economic  compensation  that  Ger- 
many or  Austria  might  make. 

If  there  were  no  other  reason  for  possibility 
of  war,  the  internal  situation  in  Germany 
itself  would  be  enough  to  place  France  on  her 
guard.  In  spite  of  Germany's  industrial  prog- 
ress, the  struggle  of  the  masses  for  bread  is 
nowhere  more  bitter.  The  intense  competi- 
tion in  the  markets  of  the  world,  the  necessity 
of  paying  interest  on  borrowed  capital,  the 
fact  of  a  vast  and  rapidly  increasing  population 
— all  this  spells  low  wages  in  a  country  where 
taxes  are  high  and  where  the  burdens  of  arma- 
ment are  fast  becoming  unbearable.  Such 
conditions  make  for  socialism.  Already  the 
socialists  form  the  most  powerful  party  in  the 
Reichstag.  The  Kaiser  wishes  peace,  but  he 
is,  above  all,  a  believer  in  monarchical  insti- 
tutions. If  socialism  continues  to  spread 
with  its  present  rapidity,  no  one  doubts  that 
he  would  stake  Germany's  supremacy  in  a 
foreign  war  in  order  to  unite  the  nation  around 
him  and  to  divert  the  people  from  their  struggle 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN    149 

for  a  more  democratic  form  of  government. 
A  successful  war  with  France  would  not  only 
mean  rich  provinces,  a  big  war  indemnity, 
but  it  would  also  mean  a  new  prestige  for  the 
Hohenzollern  government,  sufficient  to  carry 
it  through  the  socialistic  perils  of  another 
generation. 

In  view  of  these  facts,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  the  French  nation  considers  a  conflict 
inevitable,  and  especially  when  they  see  the 
Kaiser  appealing  to  his  already  overtaxed 
and  discontented  people  to  make  a  supreme 
sacrifice.  With  Germany  the  question  is 
one  of  economic  existence.  She  can  feed  her 
population  for  only  a  fraction  of  a  year.  More 
and  more  she  finds  herself  dependent  upon 
rival  nations  for  foodstuffs  and  raw  materials. 
She  has  built  up  great  steel  and  iron  industries, 
but  the  supply  of  ore  in  the  province  of  Silesia 
will  be  exhausted,  at  the  present  rate  of  con- 
sumption, in  about  twenty-five  years.  Ger- 
many will  then  be  totally  dependent  upon 
France,  Spain,  and  Sweden  for  iron  ore.  But 
France  has  an  eighty  per  cent  superiority  over 
Spain  and  Sweden  in  her  supply  of  this  material. 


150      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Her  richest  mines  are  situated  in  Basse-Lor- 
raine, hardly  more  than  a  cannon  shot  from 
the  German  frontier.  By  the  conquest  of  a 
few  miles  in  Lorraine,  she  would  secure  enough 
iron  ore  to  supply  her  iron  and  steel  industries 
for  centuries.  A  suggestive  commentary  upon 
Germany's  aggressive  plans  may  be  noted  in 
the  German  atlas  of  Steiler.  It  writes  the 
names  of  different  countries  and  their  cities 
in  the  spelling  of  each  country.  The  French 
cities  and  provinces  are  written  in  French, 
with  the  exception  of  provinces  of  Basse- 
Lorraine,  Franche-Comte,  and  Bourgogne. 
These  are  written  in  German. 

Another  force  in  Germany  making  for  war 
is  the  Pan-German  League.  This  is  the  war 
party  of  the  armor-plate  factories  of  the 
officers  of  the  army  and  navy,  of  a  large  part 
of  the  German  press,  of  the  Crown  Prince, 
of  many  who  have  intimate  relations  with 
the  Kaiser.  The  spectacular  demonstrations 
of  the  Crown  Prince  in  the  Reichstag  against 
the  too  peaceful  policy  of  the  Chancellor  at 
the  time  of  the  Morocco  negotiations,  the  send- 
ing of  the  Panther  to  Agadir,  the  enormous 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN     151 

increase  of  the  army  and  navy  in  recent  years, 
the  arbitrary  suppression  of  French  influence 
in  Alsace-Lorraine,  have  all  been  the  fruits 
of  its  efforts.  There  can  be  no  question  of 
the  tremendous  power  of  this  organization 
which  is  so  close  to  the  heart  of  the  Crown 
Prince.  If  the  Kaiser  should  die  to-morrow, 
France  might  well  have  reason  to  distrust 
the  warlike  and  impulsive  young  ruler  who 
would  ascend  the  Hohenzollern  throne.  The 
Crown  Prince  has  recently  written  a  book 
called  Germany  in  Arms.  Its  warlike  fervor 
shows  how  little  he  is  in  sympathy  with  the 
emperor's  loyalty  to  peace.  What  makes  the 
influence  of  the  Crown  Prince  all  the  more 
dangerous  is  the  great  discontent  to-day  in 
Germany  with  the  government's  foreign  policy 
"of  spending  hundreds  of  millions  upon  a 
fruitless  and  pacific  imperialism." 

Added  to  all  these  influences  which  are 
straining  the  relations  between  France  and 
Germany,  is  the  question  of  Alsace-Lorraine, 
for  more  than  two  centuries  a  French  province 
and  ceded  to  Germany  after  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War  as  a  part  of  the  price  of  peace. 


iS2      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

It  is  now  a  generation  and  more  that  Germany 
has  tried  to  assimilate  the  province,  but  with 
so  little  success  that  to-day  the  people  persist 
more  than  ever  in  their  sympathy  with  French 
culture  and  their  hostility  toward  Germany. 
There  has  been  immigration;  probably  two 
fifths  of  the  population  are  Germans,  but  the 
two  peoples  do  not  mix.  The  silent  struggle 
between  two  civilizations  goes  on.  The  reason 
for  the  failure  of  German  government  in  Alsace- 
Lorraine  is  due  to  its  refusal  to  recognize  this 
dual  civilization.  Alsace  is  largely  French 
in  sympathy;  but  instead  of  letting  the  people 
cling  to  their  local  customs,  Germany  has 
tried  to  make  them  think  and  speak  German, 
and  adopt  the  German  ways.  Instead  of 
enjoying  an  equality  with  the  other  states  in 
the  regulation  of  local  affairs,  the  province 
is  treated  as  a  vassal  state,  the  governor  being 
responsible  to  the  Kaiser.  Naturally  such  a 
system  of  government  means  the  continual 
clash  of  the  two  nationalities.  The  teaching 
of  French  and  French  history  has  been  almost 
suppressed  in  the  schools,  and  the  younger 
generation  compelled  to  learn  German.     "But 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN     153 

they  are  French  at  heart,  and  after  leaving 
school  return  again  to  the  traditions  of  their 
family.  After  forty  years,  no  music  stirs  them 
like  the  Marseillaise."  It  is  said  that  the  little 
Alsatian  schoolboys,  when  on  a  trip  to  the 
frontier,  decorate  their  hats  and  buttonholes 
with  the  French  colors.'  No  one  can  be  long  in 
Strassburg  without  realizing  the  futility  of  Ger- 
many's campaign  against  French  influence.  It 
is  true  that  there  is  a  certain  veneer  of  German 
civilization;  the  policemen  wear  the  same  uni- 
form as  the  Berlin  police ;  German  names  appear 
over  the  principal  shops ;  but  in  the  stores  and 
cafes  one  hears  the  middle-class  Alsatians  speak- 
ing French;  French  clothes,  French  customs 
prevail.  In  a  word,  the  people,  without  French 
support,  have  gradually  become  more  French 
in  feeling  and  in  culture  than  at  the  moment  of 
annexation.  One  effect  of  this  struggle  against 
Germany's  brutal  and  arbitrary  policy  has  been 
to  start  a  strong  undercurrent  of  sympathy  in 
France.  In  many  of  the  French  towns  one  sees 
Alsace  postcards  in  the  store  windows.  The 
picture  on  one  card  was  a  reproduction  of  a 
French   painting.    A   soldier  appears  on   the 


iS4     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

lookout  in  a  forest.  Not  far  away  is  a  captive 
bound  to  a  tree.  He  is  watching  with  expect- 
ant joy  the  coming  of  the  soldier.  One  can 
easily  guess  that  the  captive  is  Alsace,  the 
soldier,  France.  We  might  also  speak  of  the 
petty  annoyances  practiced  by  the  German 
authorities  in  Alsace  upon  any  one  suspected  of 
French  sympathy.  Sporting  clubs  have  been 
dissolved.  One  reads  of  French  sportsmen  who 
have  been  refused  permission  to  rent  "shoot- 
ings." The  most  recent  measure  of  oppression 
gives  the  governor  of  the  province  absolute 
power  to  suppress  all  French  newspapers,  as 
well  as  all  societies  supposed  to  favor  French 
culture. 

This  is  only  a  part  of  the  evidence  at  hand, 
which  gives  the  impartial  observer  reason  to 
believe  that  the  friction  of  nationalities  in 
Alsace  is  the  prelude  to  the  larger  and  more  ter- 
rible struggle  to-day  is  regarded  in  France  as 
inevitable.  At  the  School  of  Political  Science 
in  the  sorbonne  at  Paris,  where  the  superiority 
of  German  methods  used  to  be  accepted  with- 
out question,  it  is  said  the  professors  can 
now  hardly  mention  them,  for  fear  of  hostile 
demonstrations. 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN     155 

This  question  of  Franco-German  relations  has 
already  overshadowed  Europe.  All  attempts 
to  promote  a  more  friendly  understanding  have 
been  fruitless.  Even  though  the  present  ten- 
sion be  only  temporary,  it  is  very  doubtful  if 
there  can  be  any  approach  to  better  relations 
until  Germany  has  solved  the  question  of  Alsace- 
Lorraine,  abandoning  her  policy  of  rough-shod 
assimilation,  recognizing  the  existence  of  a  dual 
civilization,  granting  autonomy  of  local  affairs, 
and  welcoming  the  province,  on  an  equal  footing 
with  the  other  German  states,  to  the  brother- 
hood of  the  empire.  With  this  source  of  dis- 
cord removed,  Alsace-Lorraine  might  become 
a  bond  instead  of  a  barrier  between  France 
and  Germany.  Such  a  solution,  however 
remote,  would  be  an  important  step  toward 
a  more  auspicious  era  of  friendly  feeling,  of 
good  faith.  Unfortunately,  the  Kaiser  is  op- 
posed to  this  conciliatory  policy.  The  fact 
that  Alsace-Lorraine  belongs  to  the  empire 
as  a  whole,  and  is  therefore  a  bond  of  unity 
between  the  German  states,  makes  him  un- 
willing to  disturb  the  present  arrangement 
and  to  recognize  anything  approaching  a  dual 
government  in  Alsace-Lorraine. 


156   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

In  the  light  of  the  above  facts,  our  encounter 
with  the  French  peasant  was  of  deep  signifi- 
cance. We  could  see  behind  it  the  forces — 
economic,  political,  and  sentimental  —  that  are 
at  work  to  divide  France  and  Germany. 
Naturally,  we  were  on  the  lookout  for  any 
incident  of  this  kind  which  would  give  us  a 
clearer  view  of  the  great  question  which  is 
placing  such  terrible  burdens  upon  the  two 
countries. 

We  shall  not  easily  forget  our  experience  in 
one  French  town.  It  was  Sunday  evening,  and 
the  street  was  crowded  with  peasants  and 
artisans.  One  of  us  had  stuck  in  his  hat  a 
Swiss  feather,  such  as  is  commonly  worn  in  the 
Tyrol  of  southern  Germany.  He  purchased  a 
French  newspaper,  and  after  glancing  through 
it,  dropped  it  in  the  gutter.  This  harmless  act 
very  nearly  involved  us  in  serious  trouble.  A 
burly  Frenchman,  noticing  the  feather  and 
taking  him  for  a  German,  resented  the  appar- 
ently contemptuous  way  in  which  the  journal 
had  been  thrown  in  the  street.  "Vous  avez 
insulte  la  patrie,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice.  Like 
a  flash  the  rumor  spread  in  the  street  that  three 


I   "£ 


BIARRITZ  TO  MONT-DE-MARSAN      157 

Germans  had  insulted  France,  and  a  threaten- 
ing crowd  surrounded  us.  A  restaurant  offering 
the  nearest  refuge,  we  stepped  inside  to  order 
une  demi-tasse  and  to  wait  until  the  excite- 
ment had  subsided.  The  gar  con  refused  to 
serve  us.  Outside,  the  crowd  grew  larger. 
Then  a  policeman  appeared.  Upon  learning 
that  we  were  Americans,  he  quickly  appreciated 
the  humor  of  the  situation,  and  explained  the 
misunderstanding  to  the  crowd  pressing  around 
the  door.  The  excitement  abated  as  quickly  as 
it  arose,  and  we  were  allowed  to  continue  our 
walk  without  further  interruption. 

Mont-de-Marsan  has  little  to  relieve  the 
monotony  of  its  narrow  village  life.  We 
bumped  over  cobbled  streets  to  the  Hotel 
Richelieu,  securing  pleasant  rooms  which 
opened  on  an  attractive  little  court,  enlivened 
by  a  murmuring  fountain.  Dinner  was  hardly 
over  when  the  silence  of  the  country  began  to 
settle  along  the  deserted  streets.  Such  a 
soporific  environment  was  sleep-compelling. 
An  alarm  clock  was  not  necessary,  for  at  early 
dawn  the  street  resounded  with  a  medley  of 
noises,  the  varied  repertoire  of  the  barnyard, — 


1 58   EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

a  hundred  of  them,  in  fact.  Geese,  chickens, 
goats,  and  sheep  were  all  tuning  up  for  the 
village  fair.  It  is  a  mystery  how  we  motored 
through  that  maze  of  poultry  and  small  wooden 
stands  heaped  with  fruits,  poultry,  game,  even 
dry  goods — a  kind  of  open-air  department  store. 
The  clerks  were  grizzled  peasant  women,  some 
of  them  eating  their  breakfast  of  grapes  and 
dry  bread,  others  displaying  tempting  fruit  to 
entice  us  into  a  purchase. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MONT-DE-MARSAN    TO    PERIGUEUX 

1\  yrOTORING  on  to  St.  Justin,  we  plunged 
into  an  immense  forest  broken  only  now 
and  then  by  small  clearings  and  extending  for 
nearly  sixty  miles  to  the  lumber  town  of  Castel- 
jaloux.  Woodland  depths  shut  out  the  view. 
Mile  followed  mile  of  dark  pines  and  somber 
perspective,  an  endless  succession  of  dim  forest 
glades.  The  sappers  were  at  their  work,  peeling 
the  bark  from  the  long  trunks  and  attaching 
small  earthenware  cups  to  catch  the  resinous 
gum.  The  road  was  so  easy  and  smooth  that 
we  did  not  find  it  difficult  to  take  notes.  From 
the  lumber  yards  of  Casteljaloux  was  blown  the 
fragrant  odor  of  fresh-sawn  pine.  Bright  sun- 
shine flooded  the  wide-open  country.  The 
freedom  of  the  fields  was  around  us  again. 
Here  and  there  a  maple  showed  the  first  gor- 
geous colors  of  autumn. 

In  the  enjoyment  of  these  peaceful  scenes  we 
ran  unexpectedly  through  an  encampment  of 
French  soldiers.     The  army  was  getting  ready 

11  159 


160      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

for  the  autumn  maneuvers.  Rifles  were 
stacked,  and  heavy  accouterments  deposited 
on  the  grass.  There  were  three  or  four  large 
Paris  omnibuses  transformed  into  kitchens, 
motor-propelled  and  equal  to  a  speed  of  twenty- 
miles  an  hour.  Soldiers  and  officers  watched  us 
curiously,  almost  suspiciously.  Our  notebooks 
were  hastily  put  aside.  To  be  detected  taking 
notes  from  a  German  motor  car  in  a  French 
encampment  might  have  had  unpleasant  conse- 
quences, or  at  least  subjected  us  to  serious 
inconvenience.  One  of  the  officers  took  our 
number;  another  "snapped"  us  with  a  camera, 
but  there  was  no  attempt  to  interfere  with  our 
progress. 

The  infantry  wore  long  blue  coats  and  red 
trousers.  One  wonders  why  the  French  army, 
otherwise  so  scientifically  equipped,  should  have 
such  showy  uniforms.  If  France  went  to  war 
to-morrow,  her  soldiers  would  be  at  a  great  dis- 
advantage. These  uniforms  would  be  a  con- 
spicuous target  at  the  farthest  rifle  range.  All 
other  modern  armies,  like  those  of  Germany, 
England,  or  Italy,  have  adopted  the  "invisible" 
field  dress.    But  in  France  the  colors  have  not 


MONT-DE-MARSAN  TO  PERIGUEUX    161 

changed  from  the  blue  and  red  of  Napoleon's 
soldiers.  A  few  years  ago  the  War  Minister 
Berteaux  tried  to  introduce  a  uniform  of  green 
material.  His  efforts  were  without  success; 
the  old  color  tradition  was  too  strong.  A 
French  officer  commented  as  follows:  "The 
French  army  is  one  of  the  most  routine-bound  in 
Europe.  In  some  things,  like  flying,  we  have  a 
lead,  because  civilians  have  done  all  the  pre- 
liminary work,  but  in  purely  military  matters, 
like  uniforms,  officialdom  delays  reform  at  every 
turn.  It  was  not  until  1883  that  we  gave  up 
wearing  the  gaiters  and  shoes  of  Napoleon's 
time,  and  took  to  boots  like  other  armies." 
Even  the  officers  whom  we  saw  from  our 
motor  car  were  dressed  in  scarlet  and  gold,  red 
breeches,  and  sky-blue  tunics  with  gold  braid. 
A  little  farther  on  we  passed  several  motor 
cars  filled  with  French  officers;  just  behind 
them  came  a  dozen  Berliet  trucks  of  a  heavy 
military  type,  loaded  with  meat  and  ammuni- 
tion. These  are  the  times  of  motor  war.  The 
automobile  has  revolutionized  the  old  method 
of  food  supply.  The  long,  slow  train  of  trans- 
port wagons,  unwieldy  and  drawn  by  horses, 


i62      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

has  been  replaced  by  swift  motor  trucks.  The 
French  army  is  unsurpassed  in  mechanical 
equipment.  No  effort  has  been  spared  to  give 
the  army  the  full  benefit  of  technical  and 
scientific  improvements.  This  year,  for  the 
first  time,  the  Paris  motor  omnibuses  are  serv- 
ing as  meat-delivery  vans.  With  this  innova- 
tion, the  army  can  have  fresh  meat  every 
morning,  instead  of  the  canned  meats  of  other 
years.  The  supply  stations  can  be,  in  safety, 
thirty  miles  from  the  front,  and  yet  remain 
in  effective  communication  with  the  troops. 
France  is  in  grim  earnest.  The  army  is  ready 
and  competent.  The  terrible  lessons  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  war  of  1870  have  been  learned. 
A  French  officer  with  whom  we  conversed  on 
the  subject  of  the  French  and  German  armies, 
spoke  of  the  superiority  of  the  French  artillery 
over  German  guns  in  the  recent  Balkan  war. 
He  said  that  the  French  were  counting  upon 
their  great  advantage  in  this  respect  to  offset 
the  German  superiority  in  numbers.  Com- 
menting on  the  wish  of  the  Kaiser  to  visit  Paris, 
he  was  quite  sure  that  the  Kaiser  would  never 
repeat    the   performance    of   his    grandfather, 


Copyright  >>y  Underwood  &  Underw I 


A  miracle  of  Gothic  splendor 


MONT-DE-MARSAN  TO  PERIGUEUX    163 

Emperor  William  I,  and  arrive  in  Paris  at  the 
head  of  the  German  army. 

Our  lunch  in  Marmande  reminded  us  of  a 
banquet,  but  we  were  not  yet  French  enough  to 
do  full  justice  to  three  kinds  of  meat.  France 
is  essentially  a  country  of  fields  and  gardens. 
How  we  looked  forward  to  every  dejeuner  and 
every  diner  so  bountifully  spread  with  the 
famous  products  of  her  soil!  The  cuisine  of 
these  small  towns  would  not  suffer  in  compari- 
son with  the  hotels  of  larger  cities.  One  is 
served  more  generously  for  half  the  price,  and 
the  cooking  is  just  as  good. 

A  delightful  succession  of  little  foreign  touches 
brightened  the  ride  from  Marmande, — the 
sluggish  bullock  carts,  and  vineyards  inter- 
spersed with  tobacco  fields,  small  churches  with 
bell  cotes  guarded  by  solemn,  century-old  cy- 
press trees;  or  perhaps  it  was  an  old  Gothic 
house  or  an  ancient  gateway  with  a  piece  of 
mediaeval  wall  still  clinging  to  it.  In  one 
village  we  saw  bizarre  stores,  where  the  door- 
way and  window  were  one.  This  must  be  a 
survival  of  Roman  times,  because  we  had  seen 
the  same  thing  in  Pompeii.     We  were  quickly 


i 


i64      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

called  back  from  antiquity,  however,  by  the 
cement  telegraph  poles  which  lined  the  road  for 
some  miles.  It  was  a  surprise  to  see  such  evi- 
dence of  progress  in  a  region  where  the  years 
leave  so  few  traces  of  their  march. 

By  this  time  the  weather  had  become  the 
chief  topic  of  conversation.  A  storm  was 
swiftly  approaching.  Tall  cypress  trees  creaked 
and  swayed  in  the  wind;  the  dark  clouds, 
nearly  above  us,  shot  out  murky,  ominous 
streamers,  like  the  tentacles  of  a  gigantic 
octopus;  a  few  big  drops  fell;  then  the  flood- 
gates burst.  The  drenching  downpour  was  so 
sudden  that  there  was  no  time  to  put  up  the  top 
of  the  car.  A  tall  tree  offered  refuge,  but  soon 
each  separate  leaf  had  a  tiny  waterfall  of  its 
own.  Fortune  did  not  entirely  desert  us,  for  a 
small  farmhouse,  near  by,  promised  a  more 
substantial  shelter.  It  was  just  the  kind  of 
peasant's  home  that  we  had  often  seen  from  the 
roadside:  an  exterior  of  rustic  quaintness, 
built  of  stone  and  rough  timbers,  and  artistically 
framed  in  rustic  vines  and  flowers.  What 
would  the  interior  look  like  ?  We  knocked.  A 
barefooted   peasant  woman  opened   the  door. 


MONT-DE-MARSAN  TO  PERIGUEUX    165 

She  was  surprised  to  see  three  dripping  appari- 
tions, apparently  swept  in  by  the  rage  of  the 
elements,  but  her  invitation  to  enter  could  not 
have  been  more  cordial.  The  "salon"  served 
the  purposes  of  kitchen,  bedchamber,  and  dining 
room.  There  was  no  trace  of  carpet  or  rug  on 
the  cobble-stoned  floor.  The  heap  of  straw  in 
the  corner  did  not  disclose  whether  it  was  for 
dog  or  goat.  On  the  wall  hung  a  cheap 
color-print  of  Napoleon.  The  hospitable  "As- 
seyez-vous"  called  our  attention  to  a  single 
decrepit  chair.  There  was  not  even  a  wooden 
table.  The  rain,  pattering  down  the  chimney, 
had  almost  extinguished  the  blaze  in  the  small 
open  fireplace.  Could  anything  have  been 
more  barren  or  forlorn!  Judging  from  the 
appearance  of  our  hotesse,  the  bathtub  either 
did  not  exist  or  had  long  since  ceased  to  figure 
prominently  in  the  domestic  life  of  the  house- 
hold. Two  other  peasant  women  of  the  same 
neglected  appearance  entered  without  knock- 
ing. One  of  them  was  barefooted;  the  other 
would  have  been  if  she  had  not  worn  heavy 
sabots.  Both  of  them  greeted  us,  but  their 
dialect  was  unintelligible.    The  sun  coming  out 


1 66      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

we  said  good-by  with  all  the  polite  French 
phrases  at  our  command.  The  three  peasant 
women  stood  in  the  doorway  and  waved  their 
ragged  aprons  till  we  disappeared  over  the  hill. 

The  bridge  spanning  the  Dordogne  into 
cheerful  Bergerac  showed  a  town  busy  with 
festal  preparation  for  the  coming  of  President 
Poincare.  Pine  branches  were  being  wound 
around  telephone  poles ;  festoons  of  green  deco- 
rated the  houses;  windows  were  bright  with 
flags;  the  streets  overhung  with  arches  bearing 
inscriptions  of  welcome.  We  stopped  at  a  tea 
shop  which  was  also  a  boulangerie. 

It  was  interesting  to  discover,  from  the  local 
papers,  that  our  route  for  the  next  two  days  was 
to  be  part  of  the  itinerary  selected  by  President 
Poincare  for  his  tour  through  the  French 
provinces. 

This  trip  resulted  from  the  president's  desire 
to  know  his  people  better,  to  become  acquainted 
with  their  local  life,  to  visit  their  industries,  and 
especially  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  motor 
world  to  beautiful  and  interesting  regions  of 
France  which  had  too  long  been  neglected, — 
these  slumberous  small  towns  of  the  Dordogne, 


MONT-DE-MARSAN  TO  PERIGUEUX    167 

Limousin  and  Perigord,  hidden  from  the  broad 
travel  track,  rich  in  local  traditions  and  pecu- 
liarities, wrapped  in  their  old-world  atmos- 
phere, surrounded  by  exquisite  landscapes  with 
marvelous  horizons.  For  these  towns,  the 
president's  coming  was  a  big  event.  Some  of 
them  recalled  that  since  the  days  of  Louis  XI 
no  ruler  of  the  state  had  visited  their  village. 

We  were  to  see  Perigueux,  with  its  precious 
relics  of  Roman  life  and  of  the  Middle  Ages; 
Limoges,  noted  for  its  beautiful  enamels  and 
the  center  of  the  porcelain  industry.  It  was 
this  part  of  France,  so  little  visited  even  by  the 
French  themselves,  that  President  Poincare 
chose  for  his  week  of  motoring.  For  him,  as 
well  as  for  us,  it  was  to  be  a  delightful  voyage 
of  discovery. 

The  twenty-nine  miles  to  Perigueux  proved 
a  memorable  motor  experience.  Much  of  the 
way  was  among  steep,  tree-covered  slopes.  No 
one  met  us  along  the  road. 

It  is  surprising  how  far  one  can  motor  in 
France  without  seeing  any  trace  of  human  life ; 
areas  of  deserted  country  are  so  common; 
abandoned  farmhouses  appear  so  frequently. 


168      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

The  reason  lies  not  alone  in  the  drift  of  popula- 
tion to  the  larger  towns  and  cities,  but  in  the 
fact  that  the  French  birth  rate  is  failing  to  hold 
its  own.  France,  so  rich  in  other  respects,  is 
actually  threatened  by  a  decreasing  population. 
In  191 1  the  number  of  deaths  exceeded  the  num- 
ber of  births  by  33 ,800.  In  the  first  third  of  the 
last  century,  when  the  death  rate  was  much 
higher  than  now,  there  were  six  births  to  every 
death;  in  187 1  the  ratio  had  fallen  to  two  births 
to  each  death;  in  1901  it  was  even.  If  we  con- 
sider the  number  of  births  per  10,000  inhab- 
itants during  the  decades  of  the  last  century, 
we  find  the  series  to  be  an  invariably  decreasing 
one — from  323  in  1800  to  222  in  1900.  In  1870 
Germany  and  France  had  each  about  38,000,000. 
Germany  now  has  over  67,000,000,  a  gain  of 
27,000,000  over  the  present  French  population 
of  39,340,000.  France  is  thus  placed  at  a  great 
disadvantage  in  the  matter  of  national  defense. 
If  we  assume  the  German  army  to  be  only 
750,000  soldiers,  there  would  be  one  soldier  to 
every  89  inhabitants;  France,  to  have  the  same 
army,  would  be  obliged  to  have  one  soldier  to 
every  52  or  53  inhabitants.    The  fact  that  the 


MONT-DE-MARSAN  TO  PERIGUEUX    169 

French  soldiers  will  now  be  compelled  to  serve 
three  years  in  the  army,  as  compared  with  two 
years  in  Germany,  shows  how  France  is  now 
paying  the  penalty  for  neglecting  that  vital 
national  problem  of  population. 

Our  ride  to  Perigueux  gave  vivid  emphasis  to 
the  above  figures.  There  was  little  evidence  of 
peasant  life.  One  had  the  impression  of  roam- 
ing through  a  vast,  uninhabited  country. 

From  the  top  of  a  hill  the  town,  and  the  valley 
of  the  Isle,  stretched  beneath  us  a  lovely  view ; 
the  windings  of  the  river  Isle,  its  bridges 
mirrored  in  the  crimson  flood.  Wooded  hills 
faded  slowly  into  the  blue  depths  of  twilight. 
The  graceful  Byzantine  campanile  and  domes  of 
St.  Front  reminded  us  of  the  church  of  St. 
Marks  in  Venice.  Europe  has  few  more  roman- 
tic corners.  Descending  the  hill,  we  motored 
over  the  river  and  into  the  town,  under  arches 
of  electric  lights  arranged  in  letters  to  spell 
words  of  greeting  to  the  president. 

The  Grand  Hotel  du  Commerce  should  have 
been  torn  down  years  ago.  It  was  a  good 
example  of  how  poor  a  provincial  hotel  can  be. 
Even  the  recommendation  of  the  Touring  Club 


170      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

of  France  could  not  make  us  forget  the  musty 
smells  that  filled  rooms  and  corridors.  We 
opened  wide  all  the  windows.  After  a  few 
minutes,  the  fresh  air  revived  us. 

For  a  place  that  occupies  so  little  space  in  the 
pages  of  Baedeker,  Perigueux  is  unique.  Nu- 
merous remains  from  the  different  epochs  of 
history  may  be  found.  The  Roman  period,  the 
Middle  Ages,  the  Renaissance,  and  modern 
times  have  all  left  their  imprint.  There  is  the 
massive  tower  of  Vesone,  once  part  of  a  Gallo- 
Roman  temple.  The  Chateau  Barriere  has  one 
curious  feature:  a  railroad  runs  through  the 
deep  moat  of  feudal  times.  We  shall  need  all 
our  superlatives  to  describe  the  Jardin  des 
Arenes.  Where  else  will  you  find  a  public 
garden  laid  out  on  the  site  of  an  ancient  Roman 
amphitheater,  keeping  the  same  size,  the  same 
circular  form,  and  even  preserving  some  of  the 
original  arches  to  admit  the  modern  public  ?  A 
French  journalist  once  wrote  that  "even  with- 
out its  bright  sunlight,  even  without  imagina- 
tion, Perigueux  remains  one  of  the  quaintest 
towns  in  the  world  and  one  of  those  places 
which  the  French  people  would  visit  in  crowds 


MONT-DE-MARSAN  TO  PERIGUEUX    171 

if  it  were  situated  in  another  country."  Viewed 
from  a  distance,  the  cathedral  of  St.  Front 
makes  a  striking  appearance;  the  five  huge 
domes  might  have  been  transplanted  from  St. 
Sophia  of  Constantinople. 


CHAPTER  XII 

PERIGUEUX   TO   TOURS 

TJ^ROM  Perigueux  we  followed  the  Isle  for 
some  distance  before  turning  to  wind  over 
the  hills.  It  was  a  region  of  chestnut  trees,  the 
marronniers  for  which  the  province  is  so  cele- 
brated. For  miles  the  trees  formed  a  stately 
hedge  along  both  sides  of  the  highway,  and 
groves  of  them  were  in  the  near  distance,  their 
spreading  branches  reminding  us  of  English 
oaks. 

The  ascent  continued  to  Thiviers,  a  tiny 
village  of  the  Dordogne.  One  of  the  vieux 
citoynes  pointed  out  the  H6tel  de  France  as  the 
best  place  to  lunch.  "On  mange  tres  bien  Id- 
bas,"  he  said.  The  lunch  was  a  chef  d'asuvre. 
We  had  never  tasted  such  poulet  au  casserole  or 
such  cotelettes  de  mouton  grillees.  The  Heme  had 
a  delicious  sue  de  viande  which  went  well  with 
the  pommes  frites.  There  was  vin  a  discretion, 
and,  besides,  different  kinds  of  frontage  and  the 
French  melons,  golden  and  juicy  and  always  the 
best  part  of  the  repast. 

172 


PERIGUEUX  TO  TOURS  173 

Nothing  is  more  delightfully  characteristic  of 
these  small  towns  like  Thiviers  than  the  deli- 
cacies peculiar  to  them.  These  little  commun- 
ities, so  different  from  each  other  in  local 
customs  and  mannerisms,  are  just  as  unique  and 
original  in  their  cooking.  It  was  always  inter- 
esting, when  we  had  lunch  or  dinner  in  a  new 
place,  to  scan  the  menu  for  some  new  dish  that 
we  had  never  tasted.     Whenever  the  garcon  or 

A 

maitre  de  Vhotel  pointed  to  an  item  on  the  menu 
and  said,  "Cest  une  speciality  de  la  maison," 
then  we  knew  that  something  good  was  coming. 
One  never  tires  of  these  French  delicacies. 
Our  regret  at  leaving  them  behind  was  usually 
tempered  by  the  consolation  that  something 
equally  new  and  delicious  was  awaiting  us  in  the 
next  place  en  route.  Each  one  of  the  following 
names  recalls  experiences  that  we  shall  not  soon 
forget.  These  are  simply  samples.  The  list 
would  be  too  long  if  we  named  them  all;  the 
truites  of  Chambery;  the  mushroom  patties  of 
Pierrelatte;  the  jambon  of  Bayonne;  the  truffes 
of  Perigueux;  the  rillettes  and  vins  of  Tours; 
the  miel  du  Gatinais  of  Orleans ;  the  fried  sole  of 
Chartres  and  Dieppe.     In  Normandy,  sweet 


i74      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

cider  was  often  placed  on  the  table  instead  of  the 
mild  vin  du  pays.  The  cheese,  patisserie,  and 
fruits  were  good  everywhere. 

Another  item,  which  we  cannot  overlook, 
never  appeared  on  the  menu  and  yet  always 
flavored  the  whole  repast.  That  was  the  genial- 
ity, the  provincial  hospitality,  which  greeted  us 
in  every  little  inn  and  hotel.  The  welcome  was 
just  as  hearty  as  the  farewell.  If  there  was  some 
one  dish  that  we  especially  liked,  the  patronne 
was  never  satisfied  till  she  was  sure  that  we  had 
been  bountifully  served.  After  so  many  experi- 
ences like  these,  it  is  easy  to  understand  why  the 
foreign  motorist  feels  so  much  at  home  in  France. 

It  was  a  splendid  run  to  Limoges.  The  long 
grades  were  scarcely  noticeable,  the  easy  curves 
rarely  making  it  necessary  to  check  our  speed. 
Donkey  carts  were  fashionable,  and  sabots,  as 
usual,  in  style.  There  was  always  a  shining 
river  or  green  valley  in  sight.  Haute- Vienne, 
arrayed  in  flags  and  evergreens,  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  president.  Here,  as  all  along  the 
route,  we  saw  the  same  joyful  picture  of  festal 
preparations.  The  bridge  over  the  river  Vienne 
was  like  a  green  arbor. 


PERIGUEUX  TO  TOURS  175 

Some  of  the  worthy  citizens  of  these  com- 
munities were  probably  more  familiar  with  town 
affairs  than  the  current  events  of  the  outer 
world.  We  read  in  a  local  journal  of  a  shop- 
keeper who  shouted  a  lusty  "Vive  Faillieres," 
to  greet  the  president's  arrival.  The  mayor  of 
one  village  threw  himself  in  front  of  the  presi- 
dential car,  and  threatened  to  commit  suicide  if 
the  president  did  not  make  a  speech,  as  he  had 
done  in  a  neighboring  town.  These  petty 
municipal  jealousies  gave  us  a  picture  of  France 
in  miniature.  What  country  is  more  torn  by 
faction!  Internal  dissension  is  the  nation's 
peril. 

The  river  kept  us  company  until  Limoges  was 
in  sight.  The  president  had  left  the  city  only 
a  few  hours  before  our  arrival.  Decorations 
were  still  in  their  splendor.  One  arc  de  triomphe 
bore  the  words  "Vive  Poincare."  Another 
read,  "Nos  fleurs  et  nos  cceurs"  This  popular 
ovation  seems  remarkable  when  we  consider  the 
strength  of  socialism  in  France,  and  the  fact 
that  Limoges  is  a  socialistic  center.  The  mayor, 
a  socialist,  refused  to  receive  the  president.  The 
City  Council  was  not  present  at  the  festivities  of 

12 


176     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

welcome.  Municipal  buildings  like  the  H6tel 
de  Ville  were  not  decorated.  All  this  was  in 
accordance  with  instructions  received  from  the 
leaders  of  the  socialistic  party.  It  was  even 
considered  unsafe  for  the  president  to  include 
Limoges  in  his  itinerary.  But  the  people,  the 
wage  earners,  the  various  trade  organizations, 
acted  for  themselves.  Their  spontaneous,  en- 
thusiastic greeting  was  all  the  more  striking  in 
contrast  with  the  cold  indifference  of  the  city 
authorities.  To  be  in  an  important  French 
city  at  just  this  time,  on  the  very  day  when  the 
president  was  there,  to  see  all  the  preparations 
for  his  welcome,  to  hear  the  people  talk  about 
him  and  praise  him,  made  us  feel  that  we  had 
been  close  indeed  to  one  of  the  great  person- 
alities of  modern  Europe.  France  has  found 
her  leader,  a  man  of  vast  energy  who  under- 
stands his  country's  problems  and  is  peculiarly 
fitted  to  solve  them.  His  motor  tour  through 
the  provinces  was  like  a  triumphal  march. 
Everywhere  he  preached  that  gospel  of  unity 
which  is  the  great  need  of  the  hour. 

Thanks  to  a  letter  of  introduction,  we  had 
the  interesting  privilege  of  visiting  a  porcelain 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

A  convenient  way  to  carry  bread 


PERIGUEUX  TO  TOURS  177 

factory  and  of  seeing  the  different  processes 
through  which  the  product  passes  from  the 
shapeless  lump  of  clay  to  the  final  touch  of  the 
artist's  brush.  The  city  reflects  the  artistic 
spirit  of  its  inhabitants.  One  notices  many 
attractive  garden  plots  and  window  gardens, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  flowers  appears  in  their 
art.  These  artists  can  reproduce  them  in 
porcelain  and  enamel  because  first  of  all  they 
have  painted  them  in  their  hearts. 

After  Limoges,  came  Tours  as  the  goal  of  the 
day's  run  through  the  pastoral  beauties  of 
Limousin  to  the  chateaux  of  Touraine.  The 
air  was  crisp  and  clear.  Two  hours  of  easy 
running  through  the  bright  September  sunshine 
brought  us  to  the  Palais  H6tel  in  Poitiers  before 
noon — Poitiers,  the  city  of  old  Romanesque 
churches  and  older  traditions,  where  are  living 
so  many  of  the  vieille  noblesse  who  would  rather 
eat  dry  bread  than  make  their  sons  work.  The 
echoes  of  Parisian  rush  do  not  penetrate  these 
quiet  streets.  The  people  drink  tilleul  after 
lunch  instead  of  coffee.  The  effect  is  to  make 
them  drowsy.  In  fact,  we  have  seldom  visited 
a  place  with  such  an  atmosphere  of  slumber. 


178      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

After  lunch  the  patronne  offered  to  show  us 
some  of  the  hotel  rooms.  Most  of  them  were 
connected  with  a  private  salle  de  bain.  The 
price  was  so  reasonable  that  we  at  once  placed 
this  hotel  in  a  class  by  itself.  As  before  stated, 
bathrooms  do  not  enter  largely  into  the  life  of 
the  French  home  or  hotel.  Even  in  cities  like 
Tours,  the  public  bathtub  still  makes  its  round 
from  house  to  house  once  a  week,  or  once  a 
month  as  the  case  may  be.  An  Englishman, 
who  so  often  places  cleanliness  above  godliness, 
is  unable  to  understand  this  French  indifference 
to  the  blessings  of  hot  and  cold  water.  In  Lyons, 
the  third  largest  city  of  France,  there  is  a  popular 
saying  that  only  millionaires  have  the  salle  de 
bain  in  their  homes.  These  facts  will  help  to 
explain  why  the  H6tel  Palais,  with  its  many 
bathrooms,  made  such  an  impression  on  us. 
We  regret  that  our  snapshot  of  this  hotel  did 
not  turn  out  well.  We  would  have  had  it 
enlarged  and  framed. 

From  Poitiers  to  Tours  one  is  on  the  famous 
Route  Nationale  ,No.  10,  that  remarkable 
highway  which  Napoleon  built  across  France 
into  Spain  when  his  soldiers  made  the  long 


PERIGUEUX  TO  TOURS  179 

march  only  to  meet  defeat  in  the  Peninsular 
campaign.  We  had  followed  it  from  Bayonne 
to  Biarritz  and  on  to  San  Sebastian.  To  see 
this  familiar  sign  again  seemed  like  the  greeting 
of  an  old  friend.  It  looks  like  an  army  road,  the 
trees  are  planted  with  such  military  precision. 
One  could  almost  feel  the  measured  step  to 
martial  music.  This  straight-away  stretch  for 
so  many  miles  through  the  country  suggested 
the  great  soldier  himself.  Like  his  strategy, 
there  was  no  unnecessary  swerving.  It  was  the 
shortest  practicable  line  to  the  enemy's  battle 
front.  These  magnificent  routes  nationales  are 
the  best  illustration  of  the  order  and  system 
that  he  gave  to  French  life.  We  have  often 
thought  too  much  emphasis  has  been  laid  on  the 
destructive  side  of  Napoleon's  career.  He 
shook  Europe,  but  Europe  needed  to  be  shaken. 
The  divine-right-of -kings  theory  needed  to  be 
shattered.  France  needed  to  be  centralized. 
If  our  motoring  in  that  country  had  been  limited 
to  Route  Nationale  No.  10,  this  would  have 
been  enough  to  give  us  a  new  appreciation  of 
Napoleon  as  a  constructive  force. 

The  afternoon's  ride  flew  all  too  quickly.     It 


180      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

was  glorious,  as  evening  approached,  to  watch 
the  harvest  moon  growing  brighter  and  larger 
on  our  right,  while  the  sunset  fires  slowly- 
changed  from  burning  colors  to  dusky  gray. 
Tours  was  in  sight,  Tours  on  the  Loire,  names 
that  we  had  always  linked  with  the  chateaux  of 
Touraine.  A  multitude  of  lights  gleamed  from 
the  plain  below.  Descending  the  hill,  we 
crossed  the  Loire  to  the  H6tel  Metropole. 

Tours  was  not  what  we  had  anticipated. 
One  reads  about  the  kings  of  France  who  resided 
here,  from  Louis  IX  to  Francois  I.  Plundering 
Visigoths,  ravaging  Normans,  Catholics  and 
Huguenots,  even  the  Germans  in  1870,  all  in 
their  turn  assailed  the  unfortunate  city.  We 
looked  for  half -ruined  palaces  and  vine-covered, 
crumbling  walls.  The  reality  spread  a  different 
picture.  Aside  from  the  streets  and  houses  of 
mediaeval  Tours,  little  remains  of  great  historic 
interest.  This  large,  busy  industrial  center 
produces  so  many  articles  that  the  list  re- 
sembles a  section  from  the  new  Tariff  Act. 

We  enjoyed  varying  our  chateaux  excursions 
with  rambles  in  the  city.  There  are  old  gabled 
houses  in  the  Rue  du  Change,  where  the  over- 


PERIGUEUX  TO  TOURS 


ibi 


hanging  stories  rest  on  brackets  richly  carved. 
One  loses  all  sense  of  direction  in  some  of  these 
intricate  streets.  The  cathedral  compelled  us 
to  linger  longer  than  we  had  intended.  The 
ages  have  given  such  a  warm,  rich  gray  to  the 
stones  that  the  usual  atmosphere  of  frozen 
grandeur  was  absent.  Our  interest  in  Gothic 
glass  and  mediaeval  pillars  was  diverted  by  a 
wedding  that  was  going  on  in  the  cathedral. 
One  of  the  priests,  who  was  assisting  in  the  cere- 
monies, left  his  duties  to  offer  us  his  services  as 
guide ;  there  is  always  a  certain  magnetic  power 
to  the  American  tip.  Of  course  we  climbed  the 
Royal  Staircase  of  the  North  Tower,  even  count- 
ing the  number  of  steps.  The  fact  that  our 
numbers  did  not  correspond  is  all  that  saves  this 
part  of  our  story  from  resembling  a  quotation 
from  Baedeker.  The  panorama  showed  the  city 
spread  out  in  a  plain  between  the  Loire  and  the 
Cher.  We  grew  to  have  an  intimate  feeling 
for  these  old  cathedral  towers.  When  return- 
ing along  the  Loire  from  our  chateaux  trips, 
it  was  always  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  them  in 
the  distance,  clear-cut  and  luminous,  or  look- 
ing like  majestic  shadows  in  the  haze  of 
twilight. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE 

'T^OURS  made  a  convenient  headquarters 
for  our  explorations  in  Touraine,  where 
along  the  banks  of  the  Loire  and  the  Indre 
were  enacted  the  most  important  events  in 
French  history  from  Charles  VII  to  Henry  IV. 
Every  one  would  be  interested  in  an  historical 
course  having  for  subjects  these  Renaissance 
homes  of  France's  gallantry  and  beauty.  One 
lingers,  and  imagines  the  scenes  of  magnificent 
revel,  the  court  life  of  kings  and  queens  when 
the  artistic  and  architectural  glory  of  France 
was  at  its  zenith. 

It  was  easy  to  plan  our  one-day  trips  so  as 
to  include  on  the  same  circuit  several  of  the 
most  famous  chateaux.  The  first  day  we 
motored  to  Azay-le-Rideau,  Chinon,  Rigny- 
usse,  and  Langeais,  in  the  order  named.  The 
distances  were  short,  perhaps  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  kilometers  in  all,  so  that  we 
could  go  leisurely  and  yet  return  to  Tours 
before  dark. 

182 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     183 

With  this  wonderful  program  before  us,  we 
crossed  the  Loire,  and  traversing  a  wooded 
country  with  areas  of  vineyards  and  gardens, 
came  to  Azay-sur-Indre.  There  were  not  even 
hints  of  a  chateau,  nothing  but  the  aimless 
cobbled  streets  of  the  typical  French  town. 
We  halted  beside  a  long  wall  which  holds  back 
the  encroaching  village  and  betrays  no  sign  of 
the  surprise  in  store  within.  Any  one  about 
to  see  his  first  chateau  would  do  well  to  visit 
Azay-le-Rideau,  a  veritable  gem  of  Renaissance 
style.  This  graceful  pile  of  white  architecture, 
as  seen  to-day,  belongs  to  the  early  part  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  Francois  I  built  it.  That 
patron  of  the  beaux  arts  has  placed  our  twentieth 
century  under  lasting  obligation.  Every  line  is 
artistic.  There  is  the  picture  of  airy  lightness 
in  the  turrets  and  carven  chimneys  that  rise 
from  the  high  sloping  roofs  of  blue  slate.  In 
gratitude  for  the  preservation  of  this  perfect 
work  one  forgets  the  ravages  of  the  French 
Revolution.  Passing  over  a  small  bridge,  we 
followed  the  gardien  through  the  sculptured 
doorway  and  up  the  grand  staircase  so  often 
ascended  by  Francois  and  his  Parisian  favorites. 


1 84     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

We  were  permitted  to  see  the  ancient  kitchen 
and  old  kitchen  utensils  of  wrought  iron, 
Paintings  and  Flemish  tapestries  adorned  the 
billiard  room.  The  king's  bedroom  has  a  fine 
specimen  of  rare  mediaeval  flooring.  The  ball- 
room, with  its  Gobelin  tapestries,  suggested 
the  artistic  luxury  of  the  age.  From  nearly 
every  window  there  were  pleasing  outlooks 
on  a  green  woodland  and  on  the  sunny  branch 
of  the  Indre,  which  surrounds  the  chateau  on 
three  sides.  It  was  all  a  picture  of  peace. 
Azay-le-Rideau  is  a  chateau  of  elegance,  in- 
stead of  defense.  One  could  imagine  it  built 
by  a  king  who  had  leisure  to  collect  beautiful 
works  of  art  and  whose  throne  was  not  seri- 
ously threatened  by  invading  armies. 

Quite  different  from  it  is  the  chateau  of 
Chinon,  an  immense  ruined  fortress  built  on 
a  hill  above  the  Vienne  River.  The  walls 
are  as  impregnable  as  rocky  cliffs.  Chinon 
was  the  refuge  of  a  king  who  had  need  of  the 
strongest  towers.  Charles  VII,  still  uncrowned, 
assembled  here  the  States-General  while  the 
English  were  besieging  Orleans.  It  was  a 
time  of  despair.     The  French  were  divided, 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     185 

discouraged,  helpless,  their  richest  provinces 
overrun  by  English  armies.  At  this  lowest  ebb 
of  French  history,  a  simple  peasant  girl  came 
to  Chinon.  Only  a  solitary  gable  and  chimney- 
piece  remain  of  the  Grande  Salle  du  Trone  where 
Jeanne  d'Arc  told  the  king  of  her  visions  from 
heaven  and  of  mysterious  voices  commanding 
her  to  save  the  nation.  We  entered  the  tower, 
her  rude  quarters  till  she  departed  a  few  weeks 
later  to  lead  the  French  troops  to  the  victory 
of  Orleans. 

After  lunch  we  motored  through  the  gardens 
of  Touraine  to  the  magnificent  chateau  of 
Usse.  The  elegant  grounds  and  surrounding 
woods  formed  an  appropriate  setting.  Ter- 
races descended  to  the  wall  below,  where  our 
view  swept  over  a  wide  range  of  picturesque 
country,  watered  by  the  Indre.  Much  to 
our  regret,  we  were  not  permitted  to  visit  the 
chateau,  which  is  now  occupied  by  a  prominent 
French  family. 

Langeais,  a  few  miles  away,  gave  us  a  more 
hospitable  welcome.  It  is  a  superb  stronghold 
upon  the  Loire,  and  has  dark,  frowning  towers 
and   a   heavy   drawbridge   which   looks   very 


186      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

mediaeval.  The  widow  of  M.  Siegfried,  a 
Parisian  millionaire,  lives  here  part  of  the  year 
with  her  daughter.  M.  Siegfried,  who  bought 
the  chateau,  was  interested  in  art  as  well  as 
in  ships.  He  lavished  his  wealth  to  furnish 
the  different  rooms  with  furniture  and  objets 
d'art  peculiar  to  the  period.  His  will  pro- 
vides that  after  the  wife's  death  the  chateau 
is  to  belong  to  the  Institute  of  France,  and 
that  a  sum  equal  to  six  thousand  dollars  is  to 
be  devoted  to  its  upkeep.  Other  tourists 
had  arrived.  The  concierge  conducted  our 
party  through  the  many  different  rooms, 
lavishly  furnished  and  decorated  in  the  period 
of  Louis  XI  and  Charles  VIII.  There  were 
wide,  open  fireplaces.  We  were  interested  in 
the  Grand  Salon,  where  the  marriage  of 
Charles  VIII  and  Anne  of  Brittany  was  cele- 
brated in  1 49 1. 

The  return  to  Tours  led  along  the  banks  of 
the  Loire.  Rain  was  falling,  a  cold  drizzle 
which  the  rising  wind  dashed  in  our  faces. 
The  wide  sweeps  of  the  river  grew  indistinct. 
There  were  few  carts  to  check  our  homeward 
spurt  through  the  darkening  landscape.     We 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

The  Chateau  of  Loches  behind  its  imposing  entrance       Page  187 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     187 

were  fortunate  in  having  so  comfortable  a 
hostelry  for  a  goal.  The  dinner,  equal  to  the 
best  French  cuisine,  proved  a  pleasant  ending 
to  a  memorable  day. 

The  next  morning  ushered  in  one  of  those 
golden  fall  days  that  seemed  made  for  "cha- 
teauing."  The  swift  kilometers  soon  carried 
us  to  Loches,  that  impressive  combination  of 
state  prison,  Chateau  Royal,  and  grim  fortress 
overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Indre.  So  many 
horrible  memories  are  linked  with  the  prisons 
of  Loches  that  we  almost  hesitate  to  record 
our  impressions.  We  have  seen  the  dungeon 
cells  of  the  Ducal  Palace  in  Venice  and  the 
equally  gruesome  chambers  of  the  Castle  of 
Chillon,  but  the  dungeons  of  Loches  are  the 
most  fear-inspiring  that  we  have  ever  pene- 
trated. Perhaps  a  part  of  this  impression  was 
due  to  the  concierge  who  showed  us  the  prisons 
where  famous  captives  were  incarcerated  and 
tortured  at  the  will  of  monarchs.  There  was 
one  dark  cell  with  a  deep  hole,  purposely 
fashioned  that  the  victims  should  stumble 
headlong  to  their  fate.  Our  guide  gave  us  a 
graphic  description  of  this  method  of  execution. 


188      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

In  that  gloomy  hole,  his  sudden  climax  of 
"Tres  horrible,"  would  have  made  any  one 
shiver.  Some  of  these  cells  extend  an  inter- 
minable distance  underground.  It  is  not  the 
most  cheerful  experience  to  descend  deeper 
and  deeper  into  this  subterranean  darkness, 
to  see  the  daylight  growing  fainter,  to  hear  the 
trickle  of  water  from  the  cold  rocks,  and  then 
to  imagine  the  slow,  frightful  death  of  many  a 
political  captive.  Louis  XI,  not  satisfied  with 
the  capacity  of  the  dungeon,  built  a  great  round 
tower,  the  Tour  Neuve,  where  he  imprisoned 
the  rebellious  barons  whose  lives  could  not  be 
taken. 

Some  one  has  written  of  this  amiable  king 
that  "his  reign  was  a  daily  battle,  carried  on 
in  the  manner  of  savages,  by  astuteness  and 
cruelty,  without  courtesy  and  without  mercy." 
In  the  cell  occupied  by  Ludovico  Sforza,  the 
Duke  of  Milan,  may  be  seen  the  paintings, 
sun  dial,  and  inscriptions  with  which  he  tried 
to  ward  off  approaching  madness.  This  pris- 
oner is  said  to  have  died  from  the  joy  of  regain- 
ing his  liberty.  Louis  XI  was  resourceful  in  his 
method  of  imprisonment.     In  a  subterranean 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     189 

room  of  the  Tour  Neuve  we  were  shown 
where  the  Cardinal  Balue  was  suspended  in  a 
small  cage.  One  reads  that  he  "survived  so 
much  longer  than  might  have  been  expected 
this  extraordinary  mixture  of  seclusion  and 
exposure."  Almost  as  horrible  was  the  window 
cell  in  one  of  the  torture  chambers.  The 
prisoner  was  confined  on  a  narrow  stone  ledge 
between  two  rows  of  bars.  There  was  barely 
space  to  stand  up  or  lie  down.  A  handful  of 
straw  served  for  a  bed.  On  the  one  side,  he  was 
exposed  to  the  elements,  and  on  the  other, 
he  viewed  the  torments  of  fellow  prisoners. 

We  turned  with  relief  to  less  hideous  scenes, 
to  the  apartments  of  the  Chateau  Royal, 
occupied  by  the  irresolute  Charles  VII,  the 
terrible  Louis  XI,  and  their  successors;  to  the 
tower,  from  the  top  of  which  we  had  a  com- 
manding view  of  the  quaint,  mediaeval  town 
and  the  wandering  Indre.  Our  guide  did  not 
forget  to  show  us  the  tomb  of  Agnes  Sorel, 
the  beautiful  mistress  of  Charles  VII.  Two 
little  angels  kneel  at  her  head,  while  her  feet 
rest  on  two  couchant  lambs,  symbols  of  inno- 
cence.   The  monument  would  have  made  an 


i  go      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

appropriate  resting  place  for  a  martyred  saint. 
From  Loches,  we  motored  through  a  deep 
forest  to  the  chateau  of  Montresor,  well  pro- 
tected on  its  rocky  height  by  a  double  encircling 
wall,  flanked  with  towers.  Once  within  these 
formidable  barriers,  we  were  delighted  with 
the  pleasant  grounds  and  green  arbors  above 
the  valley  of  the  Indrois.  The  building  dates 
from  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, and  was  small  enough  to  look  more  like 
a  home  than  a  palace.  The  concierge  spoke 
of  a  distinguished  Polish  family  who  occupied 
it  part  of  the  year.  This  was  the  first  "home 
chateau"  we  had  seen.  Everything  looked 
livable;  there  was  warmth  and  coziness  and 
refinement  in  the  different  rooms.  We  felt 
almost  like  intruders  into  this  domestic  atmos- 
phere. Some  of  the  paintings  were  by  great 
artists.  One  was  Fleury's  "The  Massacre  of 
the  Poles  at  Warsaw,"  on  April  8,  1861.  There 
were  rare  specimens  of  antique  furniture,  and, 
most  interesting  of  all,  the  "Treasury  of  the 
Kings  of  Poland,"  consisting  in  part  of  the 
large  gold  dish  and  silver  soup  tureen  presented 
to  John  Sobieski  by  the  city  of  Vienna,  and  of 


Cpyrinlit  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

The  Chateau  of  Chenonceaiix        Page  igi 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     191 

the  silver-gilt  services  of  Sobieski  and  of 
Sigismond  II,  King  of  Poland.  The  chateau 
has  a  rich  collection  of  works  of  art  and  souve- 
nirs relating  to  the  history  of  Poland. 

The  Hdtel  de  France  near  by  spread  before 
us  a  menu  so  good  that  we  confiscated  the  carte 
du  jour  as  a  souvenir. 

Eagerly  we  looked  forward  to  Chenonceaux, 
built  on  the  Cher,  most  exquisite  of  the  French 
chateaux  and  for  centuries  the  rendezvous  of  wit 
and  beauty.  Motor  cars  lined  the  roadside  by 
the  gates  of  the  park.  Some  of  the  visitors  had 
driven  in  carriages  from  the  nearest  railway 
stations.  We  sauntered  down  an  avenue  of 
trees  to  a  large  garden,  rather  a  formal  piece  of 
landscape  work.  The  drawbridge  offered  ac- 
cess to  the  chateau.  Francois  I  purchased  it. 
Later,  Henry  II,  ascending  the  throne,  gave 
it  to  his  mistress,  Diane  de  Poitiers.  The 
French  women  of  that  day  had  a  big  share  in  the 
shaping  of  history;  the  conversations  of  the 
boudoir  were  often  more  influential  than  state 
councils.  Diane  built  a  bridge  which  connected 
the  castle  with  the  other  side  of  the  river. 
Twelve  years  later,  the  death  of  Henry  II  gave 

13 


i92      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

his  widow,  Catherine  de'  Medici,  a  chance  to 
relieve  her  embittered  feelings.  She  forced 
Diane  to  exchange  Chenonceaux  for  another 
chateau.  Upon  the  bridge  built  by  her  rival, 
Catherine  erected  a  long  gallery,  surmounted  by 
a  banqueting  hall.  This  fairy -like  structure  is 
so  strangely  placed,  one  is  reminded  of  a  fan- 
tastic ship  moored  in  the  river.  It  is  remarkable 
for  its  celebrated  Renaissance  architecture  and 
for  the  absence  of  bloody  traditions.  "Blois 
is  stained  with  the  blood  of  Guise;  Amboise 
was  the  scene  of  massacre;  Loches  stands 
upon  unnumbered  dungeons;  Chenonceaux 
alone  has  no  bloodstain  on  its  stones  and  no 
groan  has  ever  risen  from  its  vaults.  Eight 
generations  of  kings  took  their  pleasure  there, 
and  a  long  line  of  brilliant  and  beautiful  women 
makes  its  history  like  a  rope  of  pearls."  Even 
the  gloomy,  plotting  Catherine  did  nothing  to 
disturb  the  peaceful  records  and  gorgeous  fetes 
of  Chenonceaux.  In  the  "charnbre  de  Diane  de 
Poitiers"  we  saw  a  painting  representing  Cath- 
erine. Those  cold,  brooding  eyes  looked  capa- 
ble of  anything,  from  the  murder  of  the  Due  de 
Guise  to  the  massacre  of  St.   Bartholomew. 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     193 

Two  other  chateaux  of  our  itinerary  still  re- 
mained, Amboise  and  Blois,  the  latter  perhaps 
the  most  famous  of  them  all.  We  decided  to 
visit  these  chateaux  en  route  down  the  valley  of 
Loire  to  Orleans.  The  following  morning  we 
bade  farewell  to  Tours.  The  road  swept  us 
along  the  left  bank  of  the  Loire,  all  aglitter  in  the 
September  sunshine.  What  a  wonderful  stream 
it  is,  the  longest  river  in  France,  with  its  basin 
embracing  one  fourth  of  that  country!  There 
is  not  a  river  in  the  world  like  it.  One  feels  the 
breath  of  romance,  the  spell  of  historical  asso- 
ciations, the  beauty  of  its  curves  sweeping 
through  a  smiling  land.  "Perhaps  no  stream, 
in  so  short  a  portion  of  its  course,  has  so  much 
history  to  tell."1  Along  its  banks  flourished 
for  three  centuries  the  court  of  the  Valois  kings. 
There  are  vineyards,  the  remains  of  mediaeval 
forests,  little  villages  that  have  scarcely  changed 
in  a  hundred  years,  and  splendid  chateaux  like 
those  of  Blois,  Chaumont,  Chanbord,  and 
Amboise,  almost  reflecting  their  towers  in  the 
water  and  rich  in  the  wonders  of  the  French 
Renaissance. 

1  Old  Touraine,  by  T.  A.  Cook. 


i94      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Of  all  the  chateaux  along  the  Loire,  Amboise 
enjoys  the  finest  situation.  From  across  the 
river  we  could  see  this  dark  Gothic  mass  rising 
from  its  cliff-like  walls  to  dominate  the  town 
and  far-winding  stream.  The  panorama  from 
the  high  terrace  is  one  of  the  indescribable 
views  of  France.  The  real  treasure  of  Amboise 
is  the  exquisite  Chapelle  de  Saint  Hubert,  due 
to  Charles  VIII.  His  artistic  zeal  was  tragically 
interrupted.  We  saw  the  low  doorway  where, 
according  to  tradition,  he  struck  his  head  and 
killed  himself  while  hastening  to  play  tennis. 
On  the  terrace  is  a  bust  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
who  died  here  in  15 19.  The  name  of  Catherine 
de'  Medici  is  connected  with  a  frightful  scene 
that  occurred  in  the  courtyard.  A  Huguenot 
conspiracy  to  capture  the  youthful  Francois  II 
was  discovered.  The  fierce  Catherine  not  only 
witnessed  the  executions  from  a  balcony,  but 
insisted  upon  the  company  of  her  horrified 
daughter-in-law,  Mary  Stuart.  Twelve  hun- 
dred Huguenots  were  butchered.  One  writer 1 
makes  the  following  grim  comment:  "It  was 
a  long  job,  of  course,  to  kill  so  many,  and  the 

1  Sir  Henry  Norman,  M.  P.,  in  "The  Alpine  Road  of 
France,"  in  Scribner's  Magazine,  February,  19 14. 


Copyright  by  Underw 1  &  V 

The  Chateau  of  Amboise  on  the  Loire 


THE  CHATEAUX  OF  TOURAINE     195 

company  could  hardly  be  expected  to  watch  it 
all,  but  the  noble  victims  were  reserved  for 
their  special  entertainment  after  dinner." 
Catherine  seems  to  have  had  a  peculiar  fondness 
for  these  innocent  and  edifying  spectacles.  We 
descended  the  spiral  roadway  of  the  colossal 
tower  up  which  Emperor  Charles  V  rode  on 
horseback  when  he  visited  Francois  I.  This 
inclined  plane  was  so  perfect  and  gradual  that 
our  motor  car  could  have  climbed  it  with  ease. 
Recrossing  the  Loire,  we  rode  on  to  Blois  for 
lunch  at  that  famous  hostelry,  the  Hotel 
d'Angleterre,  close  by  the  river's  edge.  To  the 
chateau  of  Blois  belongs  historical  preeminence. 
This  great  castle  was  the  center  of  French  his- 
tory in  the  sixteenth  century.  Elaborate  and 
imposing,  Blois  recalls  the  splendor  of  the  age 
as  well  as  its  crimes.  Such  fireplaces  and  such 
ceilings!  The  colors  are  crimson  and  gold. 
Amid  this  gloomy  grandeur  moved  Catherine  de' 
Medici.  The  memory  of  her  presence  alone  is 
enough  to  make  the  air  heavy  with  intrigue  and 
murder,  with  all  the  passions  that  inflamed  the 
religious  wars.  Joining  the  usual  tourist  crowd, 
we    visited    her    apartments,    including    the 


i96     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

bedroom  where  she  died  in  1589,  at  the  age  of 
seventy,  the  most  infamous  of  French  queens. 
To  us,  the  strangest  fact  in  the  life  of  this  fierce, 
blood-loving  queen  is  that  she  was  permitted  to 
die  a  natural  death.  In  one  of  the  chambers 
were  curious  secret  cupboards  where  she  may 
have  concealed  her  jewels.  The  floor  above 
suggested  a  terribly  realistic  picture  of  the 
assassination  of  the  Due  de  Guise,  whose  popu- 
larity and  influence  had  aroused  the  jealousy  of 
Catherine  and  Henry  III.  The  concierge  ex- 
plained all  the  tragic  details.  This  was  the 
salle  du  conseil,  where,  on  the  morning  of  the 
assassination,  the  duke  was  summoned  by  the 
queen  to  a  council;  that,  the  cabinet  neuf, 
where  the  king  remained  while  the  fatal  blows 
were  being  struck.  And  there,  in  the  king's 
chamber,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  the  spot  where 
the  body  lay  when  the  king  exclaimed,  "He 
seems  greater  in  death  than  in  life." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE 

EAVING  the  cMteaux  country,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  Orleans  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
Loire  valley,  spending  the  night  at  the  H6tel 
Saint  Aignan.  The  general  appearance  of  the 
city  is  prosperous  and  modern.  The  walls 
which  once  surrounded  it  have  been  turned  into 
promenades.  Everything  in  Orleans  seems 
connected  with  Jeanne  d  'Arc .  There  is  a  bronze 
equestrian  statue  with  bas-reliefs  of  the  "Maid" 
who,  clad  in  white  armor,  led  her  soldiers  from 
victory  to  victory.  We  hope  sometime  to  be 
present  at  the  brilliant  "Fete  de  Jeanne  d'Arc," 
which  is  held  every  year  on  May  8,  in  com- 
memoration of  her  raising  the  siege  of  Orleans 
in  1429.  Small  shops  display  postal  cards 
representing  scenes  from  her  life.  The  Musee 
is  filled  with  interesting  souvenirs.  In  the 
cathedral,  where  the  people  worship  her  as  a 
saint,  we  saw  on  the  walls  votive  tablets  bearing 
inscriptions  of  gratitude  to  her  for  recovery 
from  sickness.  In  the  same  street  is  the 
197 


i98      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

"Maison  de  Jeanne  d'Arc"  where  she  was 
received  by  the  Due  d' Orleans  during  the  event- 
ful siege.  That  morning  was  filled  with  an 
interesting  series  of  historical  sidelights. 

From  the  vineyards  of  Touraine  to  the  wheat 
fields  of  Normandy;  the  change  was  complete. 
Like  an  endless  white  ribbon,  the  road  stretched 
straight  through  the  vast  plain  of  La  Beauce, 
the  granary  of  France.  What  far  reaches  of 
level  fields !  There  were  no  telegraph  poles,  no 
hedges,  no  fences.  We  seemed  to  be  moving 
through  a  strange  solitude,  empty  of  human 
face  or  habitation.  The  distant  farmhouses 
and  windmills  were  too  much  like  specks  on  the 
horizon  to  seem  real.  There  is,  after  all,  no 
scenery  to  compare  with  the  beauty  of  the  low- 
lands, where  every  mood  of  heaven,  every 
change  of  sky,  is  part  of  a  wonderful  picture. 
The  weather,  which  was  threatening  when  we 
left  Orleans,  now  looked  more  and  more  like  a 
storm.  No  shelter  was  in  sight,  nothing  but 
the  open  country,  the  great  dome  of  heaven, 
and  the  road  ever  narrowing  ahead  of  us  until  its 
indistinct  thread  merged  into  a  faint  blur.  Swift 
clouds  took  on  a  greenish,  copper-colored  hue, 


The  wheat  fields  of  Normandy 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  199 

which  deepened  into  black  as  they  swirled 
toward  us.  Then  the  hailstones  began  to  fall 
with  a  stinging  force  that  increased  with  every 
movement.  It  was  one  of  those  furious  hail- 
storms of  northern  France  which  are  as  charac- 
teristic of  that  region  as  the  mistral  is  of  the 
Midi.  There  were  no  mitigating  influences. 
The  wind  was  pitiless,  untempered  even  by  the 
shelter  of  a  tree  or  barn.  By  stopping  the  car 
and  crouching  behind  it,  we  secured  a  little 
protection  from  the  biting  blasts.  The  sun 
soon  burst  through  the  cloud  barriers.  We 
continued  toward  Chartres,  stopping  for  a 
moment  at  a  railway  crossing  to  "kodak"  a 
passing  freight  train. 

The  approach  to  Chartres  was  impressively 
picturesque.  The  double  spires  of  its  vast 
Gothic  cathedral,  growing  more  distinct,  finally 
towered  above  the  moat  and  the  Porte  Guil- 
laume,  the  fourteenth-century  gateway  of  the 
city.  Our  hotel,  the  Grand  Monarque,  gazed 
upon  the  turmoil  of  a  village  fair.  The  din 
was  deafening.  A  merry-go-round  added  the 
blare  of  brazen  music ;  several  hand-organs  were 
in  discordant  evidence.    We  mingled  with  the 


200      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

peasants  around  the  small  booths,  and  were 
almost  enticed  by  a  jolie  paysanne  into  buying 
a  pair  of  small  sabots.  Our  ride  in  the  small 
motor  car  of  the  merry-go-round  was  the 
dizziest  burst  of  speed  on  our  whole  trip. 

Little  Chartres  is  overshadowed  by  its  mighty 
cathedral.  All  interest  concentrates  there. 
Many  consider  it  the  finest  in  France.  Every 
one  would  agree  that  the  interior  is  incom- 
parable. Nowhere  can  we  find  a  more  sublime 
expression  of  Gothic  art.  Those  who  fashioned 
this  "sacred  rock- work  set  to  music"  belong 
to  the  great  unknown;  their  names  are  buried 
somewhere  back  in  the  early  part  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  when  the  cathedral  was  built. 
At  least,  they  have  given  us  a  picture  of  their 
times;  such  structures  could  not  be  erected 
now.  Our  age  is  attuned  to  a  different  key; 
there  are  too  many  distracting  influences. 
Then,  there  were  no  popular  theaters,  and  few 
books  or  forms  of  amusement.  The  church  was 
the  natural  center  of  thought  and  life.  Only 
the  religious  inspiration  of  a  people  naturally 
artistic  could  have  created  the  immortal  works 
which  the  cathedral  builders  have  bequeathed. 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

The  Gothic  cathedral  at  Chartres      Page  200 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  201 

For  a  few  miles  outside  of  Chartres  we  were 
again  on  Route  Nationale  No.  10.  The 
blue-and-white  advertisements  of  various  pro- 
ductions appeared  close  to  the  road  signs. 
This  is  a  common  practice  of  the  French 
advertisers,  who  wish  to  catch  the  eye  of 
the  voyageur.  We  had  no  idea  there  were  so 
many  different  makes  of  pneus  and  chocolats. 
In  the  roadside  hamlets  the  French  adver- 
tiser makes  use  of  the  sides  of  barns  and  the 
corners  of  houses,  but  there  is  very  little 
landscape  advertising.  Being  Americans,  we 
were  impressed  by  this  absence  of  disfiguring 
advertisements  along  the  countryside  in  Nor- 
mandy and  other  parts  of  France.  The  "Bull 
Durham"  herd,  so  often  found  in  American 
meadows,  would  not  thrive  in  French  pastures. 
It  would  be  taxed  out  of  existence. 

Hardly  had  we  sat  down  to  lunch  in  the 
H6tel  du  Grand  Cerf  of  Nonancourt  when 
there  was  a  great  shouting  and  beating  of 
drums  outside.  A  group  of  conscripts  marched 
noisily  by.  They  wore  red,  white,  and  blue 
cockades,  and  neckties  of  the  same  color,  in 
curious  contrast  to  their  simple  peasant  dress. 


202      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

In  accordance  with  the  provincial  custom,  it 
was  a  day  of  feasting  to  signalize  their  admis- 
sion to  the  army.  In  two  weeks  they  were  to 
leave  their  homes  to  begin  the  long,  tedious 
period  of  military  service.  A  young  cuirassier 
whom  we  met  in  Limoges,  and  who  had  just 
completed  his  first  year  of  service  in  the  cavalry, 
related  interesting  experiences  of  life  in  the 
French  army.  The  discipline  is  severe.  The 
German  soldier  is  not  subjected  to  a  more 
rigorous  training.  The  rising  hour  is  5  a.m. 
in  the  spring,  and  4  a.m.  in  the  summer.  There 
are  long,  exhausting  marches.  As  often  as  two 
or  three  times  a  week  the  recruits  are  awakened 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  make  a  long 
march.  Life  is  made  to  conform  as  closely  as 
possible  to  the  conditions  of  actual  war.  A 
day's  work  of  eighteen  hours  is  not  unusual. 
Naturally,  this  means  hardship,  but  it  also 
means  good  soldiers.  The  French  army  is 
very  democratic.  Rich  and  poor  are  treated 
alike.  Both  live  together  in  the  barracks. 
There  are  no  privileges.  Even  if  a  recruit  is 
wealthy,  he  is  not  allowed  to  keep  a  valet. 
Every  man  is  his  own  domestic.     The  German 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  203 

army  is  not  nearly  so  democratic.  There,  if 
the  recruit  has  means,  he  can  keep  a  servant 
and  may  live  out  of  barracks  in  a  comfortable 
apartment. 

The  conscripts  whom  we  saw  in  Nonancourt 
were  destined  to  anything  but  an  easy,  inactive 
life.  For  infantry  as  well  as  cavalry  there  is 
the  same  grueling  routine.  The  three  hours  of 
drilling  in  the  morning  do  not  include  gymna- 
sium exercises  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
Such  menial  duties  as  peeling  potatoes,  or 
washing  dishes  and  clothes,  form  part  of  the 
morning's  work.  The  short  noon  respite  is 
followed  by  three  hours  of  military  exercises. 
During  this  period  of  training  the  recruits 
receive  only  one  cent  a  day,  besides  clothing, 
guns,  and  very  simple  fare.  The  term  of 
service  has  recently  been  extended  from  two 
to  three  years,  to  offset  the  increases  of  the 
German  army.  The  average  age  of  enlistment 
is  about  eighteen  years,  an  age  when  the 
American  boy  is  entering  college  or  laying  the 
foundation  for  a  business  career.  In  com- 
parison, the  French  boy  is  heavily  handicapped. 
Even  if   his  school   days  end  at   the  age  of 


2o4      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

sixteen,  he  can  do  little  in  business.  The  French 
business  man  does  not  think  it  worth  while  to 
prepare  the  boy  for  an  important  position,  since 
his  military  service  is  so  close  at  hand.  France 
pays  a  terrible  price  for  national  security.  The 
financial  cost,  burdensome  though  it  is,  is  the 
smallest  item.  Frenchmen  who  have  lived  in 
the  United  States  often  speak  of  the  great 
advantages  enjoyed  by  the  young  American 
who  can  devote  to  his  education  or  to  his  life 
work  those  three  precious  years  which  the 
French  youth  must  give  to  the  army. 

Anatole  France,  the  distinguished  French 
writer,  was  among  those  who  protested  against 
the  new  military  law.  ' '  This  addition  of  a  year 
to  the  conscription  comes  on  us  just  when  France 
is  moving  forward  with  a  new  energy,  both  in 
science  and  industry.  It  will  be  a  grave  blow 
to  all  our  higher  life.  Medicine  especially  will 
be  injured,  for  the  medicine  of  the  army  is  not 
the  medicine  of  the  civil  state.  French  science 
requires  the  time  of  its  young  students,  and  that 
will  be  gravely  curtailed.  The  demand  for 
another  army  year  from  all  young  Frenchmen, 
imposed  without  any  exemptions,  will  draw  off 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  205 

the  best  from  every  field  of  life.  It  comes  at 
a  moment  of  great  industrial  development.  It 
will  check  that  development.  It  comes  at  a 
moment  of  expansion  in  our  arts,  especially  in 
sculpture.  It  will  be  a  heavy  blow.  Sculpture 
is  not  practiced  on  the  battlefield." 

We  wonder  if  there  is  any  help  for  Europe! 
How  will  it  all  end  ?  So  far  as  we  can  now  fore- 
see, the  peace  conference  at  The  Hague,  to 
have  been  held  in  191 5,  has  been  indefinitely 
postponed.  Instead  of  this  gathering  of  the 
nations  to  establish  some  practical  basis  for 
limitation  of  armaments,  there  is  the  prospect 
of  increased  armaments.  The  burdens,  already 
so  crushing,  are  apparently  only  the  prelude  to 
what  is  coming.  England  is  the  pacemaker  on 
the  sea.  Mr.  Winston  Churchill,  in  his  recent 
speech  before  the  House  of  Commons,  urged 
that  the  naval  budget  for  191 5  be  raised  to  over 
a  quarter  billion  dollars.  He  said:  "The 
naval  estimates  for  the  next  year  are  the  largest 
in  British  history,  $257,750,000.  The  causes 
which  might  lead  to  a  general  war  have  not  been 
removed.  The  world  is  arming  as  it  never 
armed   before.    All  attempts  at   arresting   it 


206      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

have  been  ineffectual."  Germany  is  more  than 
ever  a  nation  in  arms.  At  the  present  rate  of 
increase,  her  standing  army  in  time  of  peace 
will  soon  number  more  than  a  million  men. 
France,  which  less  than  a  year  ago  passed  the 
Three  Years'  Service  Bill,  already  faces  the 
possible  necessity  of  adding  still  another  year 
to  the  term  of  military  service. 

Count  Witte,  the  Russian  statesman,  has 
estimated  that  forty  per  cent  of  the  total  income 
of  the  great  powers  is  absorbed  by  their  armies 
and  navies.  He  said :  ' '  Unless  the  great  states 
which  have  set  this  hideous  example  agree  to 
call  a  halt  and  to  knit  their  subjects  into  a 
pacific,  united  Europe,  war  is  the  only  issue  I 
can  perceive.  And  when  I  say  war,  I  mean  a 
conflict  which  will  surpass  in  horror  the  most 
brutal  armed  conflicts  known  to  human  history, 
and  entail  distress  more  widespread  and  more 
terrible  than  living  men  can  realize." 

Russia  is  making  sweeping  military  reforms. 
The  disastrous  war  with  Japan  taught  valuable 
lessons.  The  reorganization  of  the  army  in- 
cludes vast  increases  of  men,  and  especially  the 
improvement  in  facilities  of  transportation.   The 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  207 

railroad  network  in  process  of  construction  on 
her  western  frontier  will  probably  be  completed 
in  1 9 1 5 .  When  the  plans  of  the  Czar  are  realized 
in  191 7,  Russia  will  have  one  of  the  most  formid- 
able armies  in  the  world,  a  war  machine  with 
a  fighting  strength  of  over  four  million  men. 

"Throughout  Austria-Hungary  there  is  just 
now  a  feeling  of  considerable  dread  of  Russia's 
ulterior  motives  in  a  number  of  measures, 
military  and  otherwise,  that  are  being  discussed 
in  political  circles  here.  Of  greatest  moment  in 
that  connection  is  a  short  but  vigorous  speech 
made  by  the  Hungarian  premier,  Count  Tisza, 
before  the  Parliament.  It  was  delivered  while 
advocating  the  new  army  increase  bill  (since 
adopted  by  a  large  majority),  which  raises  con- 
siderably the  annual  quota  of  recruits.  After 
bewailing  the  necessity  of  imposing  new  burdens 
on  a  nation  impoverished  and  already  staggering 
under  its  load,  he  termed  the  contemplated 
increase  in  the  fighting  strength  of  the  army  an 
absolute  necessity.  'The  shadows  of  a  coming 
big  war  are  thrown  ahead,  and  the  losing  side 
will  forfeit  its  national  life,  or  at  least  expect  a 
painful  amputation,'  he  cried." 

14 


ao8      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

In  every  country  where  we  motored  there  was 
scarcely  an  hour  which  did  not  bring  the  sound 
of  drums,  the  sight  of  barracks,  of  soldiers  drill- 
ing or  on  the  march.  Whether  in  Germany, 
Austria,  Italy,  or  France,  there  were  the  same 
sights  of  preparation  for  war.  The  sacrifices  of 
peace  in  191 4  are  hardly  less  exhausting  than 
were  the  sacrifices  of  war  in  18 13. 

"What  a  reflection  on  modern  diplomacy  the 
whole  situation  casts !  A  policy  which  men  like 
Gray  and  Asquith  have  repeatedly  characterized 
as  one  of  madness,  as  one  leading  to  bankruptcy, 
as  one  that  makes  a  mockery  of  peace  by  throw- 
ing away  half  its  benefits,  is  pursued  because  the 
diplomats  can't  agree  on  a  plan  of  armament 
limitation.  It  is  admitted  that  the  frenzied 
rivalry  in  armament  increase  adds  nothing  to 
the  relative  strength  of  any  power  or  group  of 
powers,  yet  the  frenzied  rivalry  continues  at 
the  expense  of  industry  and  constructive  social 
and  economical  reforms.  If  the  'causes  of  a 
general  war '  in  Europe  have  not  been  removed, 
what  has  diplomacy  been  doing  and  of  what 
use  are  the  alliances,  the  ententes,  and  under- 
standings among  the  powers?    Might  not  a 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood 

The  Seine  at  Rouen  Page  210 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  209 

little  courage  and  boldness  in  pushing  the 
armament-limitation  idea  and  appealing  to  pub- 
lic, business,  and  democratic  sentiment  force 
the  hands  of  the  routine-ridden  diplomats?" 

For  nearly  twenty  miles  the  road  cut  a  white 
swath  through  the  treeless  plain  of  St.  Andr6  to 
the  cathedral  town  of  Evreux.  The  wheat  fields 
and  cathedrals  of  Normandy  should  be  men- 
tioned in  the  same  sentence.  France,  so  full  of 
the  picturesque,  has  few  finer  sights  than  the 
view  of  these  airy  cathedral  spires  while  one  is 
still  miles  away  from  any  town.  We  zigzagged 
into  the  valley  of  Iton,  climbed,  swooped 
downward,  and  crossing  that  hurrying  stream, 
ran  beside  the  river  Eure  into  the  main  street  of 
Louviers.  The  warning,  "Allure  modere"  was 
unnecessary.  The  cobble  stones  were  sufficient 
to  make  us  slacken  speed.  The  beauty  of  the 
church  of  Ndtre  Dame  served  to  stop  us  com- 
pletely. The  church,  with  its  profuse  em- 
broidery of  rich,  delicate  carving,  shone  like  a 
jewel  amid  the  motley  and  jumbled  houses.  It 
was  like  finding  a  rosebush  blooming  in  the 
gutter  of  some  neglected  street.  Through  the 
forest  of  Pont  de  l'Arche  to  the  town  of  the  same 


210      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

name,  where  we  crossed  the  Seine,  past  bright 
little  Norman  cottages,  our  route  shot  ahead  to 
Rouen,  the  center  of  cotton  manufacturing  for 
France,  the  most  interesting  mediaeval  city  in 
Normandy,  and  renowned  the  world  over  for 
splendid  Gothic  churches.  After  inspecting  the 
rooms  of  two  or  three  hotels,  we  chose  the  H6tel 
d'Angleterre,  close  by  the  crowded  traffic  of  the 
Seine. 

Sight-seeing  in  Rouen  is  more  convenient  by 
carriage  than  by  motor  car.  We  moved  from 
the  abbey  church  of  St.  Ouen  to  the  church  of 
St.  Maclou.  If  Europe  had  no  other  remains  of 
Gothic  art,  Rouen  would  be  enough  to  describe 
all  the  splendor  of  that  style  of  architecture. 
The  cathedral  is  a  whole  library  of  description 
in  itself.  Curious  is  the  legend  of  the  Tour  de 
Beurre,  built  by  money  received  from  indul- 
gences sold,  and  permitting  the  people  to  eat 
butter  in  Lent. 

"At  the  base  of  the  Tour  St.  Romain,  there 
still  stands  the  lodge  of  the  porter  whose  duties 
from  very  early  times  right  up  to  1760,  included 
the  care  of  the  fierce  watchdogs  who  were  at 
night  let  loose  in  the  cathedral  to  guard  its 


ORLEANS  TO   DIEPPE  211 

many  precious  treasures  from  robbers.  How 
much  would  we  give  for  a  glimpse  of  one  of  those 
porters  walking  through  the  cavernous  gloom  of 
these  echoing  aisles,  with  his  lamp  throwing 
strange  shadows  from  the  great  slouching  dogs  I"1 

The  central  tower  rises  into  a  great  spire  of 
open  iron  work,  more  than  one  and  a  half  times 
as  high  as  the  steeple  of  Trinity  Church  in  New 
York.  One  seldom  sees  anything  so  quaintly 
picturesque  as  the  little  wooden  cloister,  Aitre 
Saint-Maclou.  From  its  courtyard,  the  burial 
ground  for  so  many  victims  of  the  Black  Death 
of  1348,  one  sees  mediaeval  spires  which  rise  in 
all  directions.  Another  vivid  reminder  of  the 
past  is  the  archway  of  the  Grosse  Horloge, 
with  its  huge  clock  in  colors  of  blue  and  gold 
and  dating  from  the  sixteenth  century. 

But  the  impressions  of  Rouen  that  thrilled  us 
most  related  to  the  sad  closing  days  of  Jeanne 
d'Arc.  At  Orleans  we  saw  her  in  the  hour  of 
victory,  a  young  girl  dictating  to  experienced 
generals,  cutting  her  way  through  the  English 
army  around  the  city  and  bringing  provisions 
and   succor   to   the   beleaguered   inhabitants. 

1From  Motor  Routes  of  France,  Part  I,  by  Gordon  Home. 
14a 


2i2      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Our  cocker  escorted  us  to  the  tower  where, 
with  instruments  of  torture  around  her,  she 
faced  and  baffled  her  brutal  inquisitors.  In  the 
old  market  place,  the  scene  of  her  martyrdom, 
one  is  shown  a  simple  slab  which  reads,  "Jeanne 
d'Arc,  30  Mai,  143 1."  This  marks  the  spot 
where  she  was  burned  at  the  stake. 

The  last  lap  of  the  trip,  the  ride  to  Dieppe  on 
the  English  Channel,  was  past  many  large 
Norman  farms.  Neat  haystacks  dotted  the 
rolling  acres.  Nowhere  else  had  we  seen  so 
many  horses, — big,  powerful  creatures.  Nor- 
mandy breeds  and  exports  them.  Apple  or- 
chards were  in  constant  view.  Coasting  down 
a  long  hill  into  the  city,  we  left  the  car  in  the 
garage  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  joined  an 
enthusiastic  crowd  which  was  watching  a  foot- 
ball game  between  Dieppe  and  Rouen. 

The  new  France  is  keenly  interested  in  sports 
and  games.  In  191 2  there  was  held  in  Paris  the 
International  Congress  for  Physical  Culture,  the 
idea  being  to  impress  upon  the  young  the  need 
for  physical  development.  The  extent  to  which 
the  idea  of  physical  culture  has  captured  France 
will  be  evident  from  the  following  figures :  in  1896 


Copyright  l>y  Underwood  &  Underwood 

Where  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  burned  at  the  slake 


ORLEANS  TO  DIEPPE  213 

the  various  athletic  societies  had  less  than  fifty- 
thousand  members;  to-day,  they  have  more 
than  three  hundred  thousand  members.  France 
has  indeed  entered  upon  a  new  era.  The  chief 
characteristic  of  it  is  not  literary  but  practical, 
self-assertive,  and  everywhere  for  action.  The 
young  Frenchman  of  to-day  is  more  interested 
in  sports  than  in  art  or  literature.  A  French 
professor  recently  said:  "I  have  lived  my  life 
in  my  library.  There  I  have  passed  through 
my  intellectual  crises.  There  I  have  experi- 
enced my  most  fervent  emotions.  In  the  lives 
of  my  sons  I  notice  that  books  play  a  very  little 
part,  or  if  they  read,  it  is  biography,  and 
especially  the  biography  of  men  of  action  like 
Napoleon." 

Now  comes  the  pang  of  keen  regret.  We  are 
close  to  the  end.  These  weeks  of  unmingled  joy 
stand  around  us  like  a  group  of  friends,  as  if  to 
stay  our  leaving.  Four  thousand  miles  of 
motoring,  in  five  countries,  and  without  an 
accident!  Our  car  has  taken  on  personality. 
Here,  climbing  a  mountain  to  the  very  summit 
whose  far-away  vistas  held  us  enchanted,  or 


2i4      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

rushing  down  on  the  other  side,  we  skirted  some 
quiet  lake  that  lay  embosomed  in  its  own  loveli- 
ness; there,  a  wild  glen  with  its  mysterious 
depths  beckoning  us  to  halt!  We  have  seen 
the  peasantry,  as  in  France,  looked  upon  their 
quaint  costumes  and  customs,  and  caught  the 
simple  melody  of  their  songs.  We  have  gone 
close  to  palaces,  and  wondered  whether  prince 
or  peasant  were  the  happier.  We  have  seen 
chateaux  that  were  tragedies  and  cathedrals 
that  were  poems.  We  have  seen  the  conscripts 
file  slowly  past,  each  surrendering  three  years 
of  the  most  important  period  of  his  life.  Then, 
we  have  contrasted  a  nation  as  a  military  camp 
with  our  own  great  republic,  without  a  large 
standing  army,  but  safe.  And  now,  homeward 
bound  to  the  freest  land  beneath  the  sun, 
America ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

EXPENSES   AND   SUGGESTIONS 

'T^HE  purchase  of  the  car  at  the  Benz  fac- 
tory in  Mannheim,  Germany,  plunged 
us  at  once  into  a  maze  of  police  regulations. 
It  was  necessary  to  secure  a  driving  license. 
With  us  in  the  United  States  this  is  hardly 
more  than  a  matter  of  routine.  Not  so  in 
Germany,  where  the  examination  is  really  a 
formidable  affair.  It  is  especially  difficult  for 
a  foreigner  to  secure  a  driving  license.  He  may 
be  able  to  give  evidence  proving  that  he  has 
driven  a  car  for  years  in  his  own  country. 
This  fact  makes  no  difference.  It  is  not  even 
taken  into  consideration.  Every  possible  op- 
portunity is  given  the  candidate  to  make 
mistakes,  and  thus  to  prove  that  he  is  not 
qualified  to  receive  the  desired  certificate. 
No  detail  of  motormanship  is  overlooked.  There 
is  an  age  requirement  of  eighteen  years.  First 
came  the  physical  examination.  Then  it  was 
necessary  to  spend  two  hours  a  day  in  the  shop 
for  five  and  a  half  weeks  so  as  to  become 

215 


216      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  various  parts 
of  the  motor  car.  The  candidate  is  given  an 
opportunity  to  see  motor  cars  taken  apart  and 
put  together.  In  this  way  he  is  made  familiar 
with  the  use  and  purpose  of  every  part  of  the 
car.  The  crucial  test  begins  when  he  is  called 
upon  to  show  his  skill  as  chauffeur.  It  is  cus- 
tomary to  drive  one  hundred  miles  in  the  city 
and  surrounding  country.  The  official  police 
inspector  who  accompanies  him  is  resourceful 
in  his  tests.  Under  his  supervision  the  car  is 
driven  through  crowded  streets,  and  made  to 
back  up  and  turn  around  in  difficult  places, — 
in  fact,  to  meet  all  the  emergencies  of  motor 
travel.  Even  after  the  examination  has  been 
passed  successfully,  there  is  a  delay  of  several 
days  before  the  license  is  given  the  final  stamp 
of  official  approval.  The  license  for  which  we 
made  application  on  February  22  was  not 
secured  until  April  10.  It  cost  one  hundred 
marks  (about  twenty-five  dollars).  Of  this 
amount,  one  half  goes  to  the  state  and  the 
balance  to  the  shop  giving  the  candidate  his 
instruction  in  motor-car  mechanics.  The  in- 
spector receives  ten  dollars   for   his   services. 


EXPENSES  AND  SUGGESTIONS       217 

There  is  also  a  customary  charge  of  one  dollar 
and  a  half  for  the  number  plate. 

Americans  who  have  lived  for  a  considerable 
time  in  Germany  are  always  impressed  with 
the  numerous  occasions  when  the  state  inter- 
feres in  the  private  life  of  the  individual;  the 
foreign  motorist  is  no  exception  to  this  rule  of 
coming  at  once  into  contact  with  the  state.  He 
no  sooner  crosses  the  frontier  than  the  state 
compels  him  to  pay  a  tax.  Even  though  he 
remains  in  the  country  but  a  single  day,  he  is 
forced  to  secure  a  tax  license  which  costs  three 
marks  (about  seventy-five  cents).  These  tax 
licenses  are  issued  to  cover  periods  of  from 
one  to  ninety  days,  the  license  good  for  three 
months  costing  fifty  marks.  If  one  remains 
longer  than  ninety  days  it  is  necessary  to 
renew  this  license  or  Steurkarte.  The  annual 
tax  on  motor  cars  varies  according  to  the  power 
of  the  car.  A  car  of  13.9  horse  power  (German 
rating)  would  be  taxed  one  hundred  and  twenty 
marks.  The  German  tax  net  spreads  every- 
where. At  the  time  of  our  sojourn  in  that 
country  the  city  of  Munich  was  considering 
the  introduction  of  a  tax  on  cats.    Such  a  tax 


218      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

would  without  doubt  be  the  first  of  its  kind 
in  the  world.  In  southern  Germany  the  small 
towns  still  continue  to  exact  imposts  of  ten 
pfennigs  (three  cents)  from  the  motor  cars 
passing  over  their  roads.  In  spite  of  the  com- 
plaint that  this  tax  is  a  serious  obstacle  to 
trade  and  traffic,  there  is  no  immediate  prospect 
of  its  being  removed.  France,  in  contrast  to 
Germany,  does  not  subject  the  foreign  motorist 
to  a  tax  unless  his  sojourn  exceeds  a  period  of 
four  months. 

The  annual  dues  of  the  Reinische  Automobile 
Club  amounted  to  forty  marks.  Membership 
in  an  organization  of  this  kind  is  necessary  to 
secure  the  triptyques  which  are  so  indispensable 
to  the  motorist  whose  itinerary  includes  several 
countries  of  Europe.  The  usefulness  of  this 
important  document  has  been  described  so 
often  that  we  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  make 
further  comment  here.  Our  international  driv- 
ing permit  based  upon  the  special  license  issued 
by  the  state  was  also  secured  for  a  small  fee 
from  the  automobile  club  above  mentioned. 

Among  the  incidental  expenses,  the  cost  of 
repairs  is  apt  to  figure  largely,   particularly 


EXPENSES  AND  SUGGESTIONS      219 

when  one  is  motoring  along  mountain  high- 
ways. Such  services  are  much  cheaper  in 
Europe  than  in  the  United  States.  In  our 
case  the  item  was  so  small  as  to  be  almost 
negligible.  The  car  was  so  carefully  overhauled 
and  inspected  before  leaving  the  factory  that 
we  suffered  little  inconvenience  or  delay.  Our 
tire  troubles  were  limited  to  a  single  puncture. 
Continental  tires  in  the  rear  and  Excelsior  in 
the  front  gave  excellent  service.  Notwith- 
standing the  wear  and  tear  of  mountain  motor- 
ing, we  found  it  necessary  to  use  only  one  of 
the  two  reserve  tires. 

Gasoline  was  everywhere  obtainable.  In 
Germany  and  France  the  price  is  about  thirty- 
seven  cents  a  gallon,  but  in  Austria  and  Spain 
it  is  much  higher,  generally  approximating 
eighty  cents  a  gallon.  In  Italy,  where  bar- 
gaining is  necessary,  the  price  usually  dropped 
from  eighty  cents  to  less  than  forty-eight  cents 
a  gallon.  A  Bosch  magneto  greatly  increased 
the  speed  and  climbing  ability  of  the  car,  and 
enabled  us  to  average  about  twenty-one  miles 
to  every  gallon  of  gasoline.  In  France  the 
cost   of   this   necessary    article   is   not    fixed. 


220      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Neighboring  towns  often  showed  a  difference 
of  several  cents  in  the  cost  per  gallon.  But 
although  the  price  is  not  uniform,  the  fine 
quality  is,  and  always  gave  excellent  results. 
As  a  part  of  our  equipment  we  carried  as 
reserve  a  five-gallon  sealed  can  of  gasoline  and 
a  similar  quantity  of  oil.  On  these  it  was 
occasionally  necessary  to  pay  a  duty  of  a  couple 
of  cents  at  the  numerous  octroi  stations  in 
France.  The  inconvenience  of  these  imposts 
was  usually  more  burdensome  than  the  amount 
of  the  tax.  For  our  oil,  which  would  have  cost 
about  forty  cents  a  gallon  in  the  United  States, 
we  averaged  one  dollar  and  ten  cents  a  gallon. 
Our  hotel  bills  were  not  high.  We  had 
expected  to  find  them  much  higher.  Two 
dollars  or  two  dollars  and  a  half  was  sufficient 
as  a  rule  to  cover  dinner,  chamber,  and  break- 
fast. For  instance,  our  rooms  at  the  Hotel 
de  France  cost  one  dollar  each,  the  dinner 
table  d'hote  seventy-five  cents  each,  and  break- 
fast thirty  cents,  the  usual  prices  which  secured 
us  satisfactory  accommodations  nearly  every- 
where in  France.  Every  hotel  had  its  garage, 
a  fact  which  we  did  not  always  find  to  be  true 


EXPENSES  AND  SUGGESTIONS       221 

of  the  hotels  in  Germany.  The  garage  was 
often  not  much  more  than  a  shed  or  lean-to, 
but  it  always  offered  the  shelter  and  protection 
necessary  for  our  one-  or  two-night  stops. 
Sometimes  there  was  a  garage  charge  of  one 
franc  (nineteen  and  one  half  cents)  a  day, 
but  this  was  exceptional.  If  the  car  was 
washed  we  were  expected  to  pay  from  thirty- 
five  to  fifty  cents  for  this  extra  service.  The 
scale  of  prices  in  Germany  and  Austria  was 
possibly  twenty  per  cent  higher,  but  nowhere 
was  there  any  attempt  to  take  advantage  of 
the  fact  that  we  were  foreigners. 

The  motor  tourist  is  such  a  familiar  sight 
abroad  that  the  stopping  of  a  motor  car  before 
a  provincial  hotel  does  not  excite  unusual 
interest.  It  is  rather  an  everyday  occurrence, 
an  accustomed  detail  of  the  day's  routine. 
France  especially,  more  than  any  other  country 
in  Europe,  has  become  a  land  of  motor  tourists. 
The  large  well-to-do  class  turns  naturally  to 
motoring  for  recreation  and  diversion. 

The  Frenchman  practices  thrift  in  his  hours 
of  leisure  and  travel  as  well  as  in  his  business. 
This  fact  probably  explains  in  great  part  the 


222      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

comparatively  low  level  of  hotel  charges  to 
be  found  in  that  country.  Contrary  to  the 
popular  idea,  there  are  not  two  sets  of  charges, 
one  for  the  European  and  a  higher  one  for  the 
American.  We  were  never  expected  to  pay 
for  services  that  were  not  rendered  in  more 
than  ample  measure.  On  the  contrary,  we 
had  daily  opportunities  to  observe  the  effort 
made  to  give  us  the  best  possible  service  for 
the  prices  charged.  This  was  true  not  only 
of  the  hotels  but  of  the  restaurants  as  well. 
Of  course,  for  a  dollar  a  day  we  did  not  expect 
to  have  a  chambre  de  luxe.  It  is  really  a  con- 
stant surprise  to  see  how  much  one  can  get 
in  the  way  of  clean,  comfortable  rooms  and 
appetizing  meals  for  a  small  outlay. 

France  is  a  country  by  itself  in  this  respect. 
There  is  perhaps  no  country  where  the  traveler 
can  get  so  much  for  his  money.  In  no  other 
land  of  Europe  can  one  motor  so  cheaply.  It 
is  always  possible  to  avoid  the  big  towns  as 
sleeping  places  and  at  meal  times,  and  yet 
run  no  risk  of  not  enjoying  the  finest  cooking 
and  a  comfortable  night's  lodging.  Austria 
is  the  most  expensive  country  for  the  motorist. 


EXPENSES  AND  SUGGESTIONS       223 

Spain  and  central  and  southern  Italy  are  so 
little  patronized  by  motor  traffic  that  they  do 
not  need  to  be  included  in  our  comparison. 

The  consideration  of  incidental  expenses  brings 
us  to  the  question  of  tipping,  without  doubt  the 
most  perplexing  and  the  most  misunderstood 
of  all  the  problems  that  confront  the  foreign 
motorist  in  Europe.  Long  before  his  steamer 
touches  the  shore  of  the  Old  World,  he  has 
visions  of  an  extended  line  of  servants  standing 
with  outstretched  hands  to  receive  the  expected 
shower  of  coins.  For  the  majority  of  tourists 
it  is  almost  an  ordeal  to  leave  a  European  hotel. 
How  often  we  have  heard  the  question,  "What 
shall  I  give?"  The  average  American  has  such 
an  instinctive  sense  of  fairness,  of  wanting  to  do 
the  right  thing,  that  a  matter  of  this  kind 
assumes  an  importance  out  of  all  proportion  to 
the  value  of  the  tip.  He  is  willing  to  be  liberal ; 
on  the  other  hand,  he  is  not  eager  to  pose  as  a 
philanthropic  and  charitable  institution  created 
to  satisfy  the  needs  of  every  hotel  employee 
who  says  "Guten  Tag"  or  "Bon  jour"  to  him 
when  he  enters  the  hotel.  The  trouble  is  that  in 
borrowing  this  custom  from  Europe  we  have  so 


224     EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

Americanized  it  that  we  find  it  difficult  to  get 
the  European  viewpoint  and  to  adapt  ourselves 
readily  to  the  practice  as  it  exists  to-day  across 
the  water.  The  American  voyageur  is  so  ac- 
customed to  doing  things  in  a  large  way  that 
it  is  not  easy  for  him  to  appreciate  the  European 
system  of  small  percentages.  His  common  mis- 
take is  to  give  larger  tips  than  are  expected  and 
overlook  the  small  tips  which  do  not  seem  to  be 
so  important.  He  hesitates  to  give  a  small  tip, 
and  in  such  cases  would  prefer  to  give  none 
at  all. 

We  have  read  somewhere  the  story  of  a 
Frenchman  who  was  visiting  the  United  States 
for  the  first  time.  He  ate  a  sixty-cent  meal  in 
a  New  York  restaurant.  Following  the  custom 
in  Paris,  he  left  five  per  cent  of  the  bill,  three 
cents,  for  the  waiter.  Many  of  us  could  prob- 
ably confess  to  an  equal  uncertainty  and  help- 
lessness in  the  presence  of  our  first  tipping 
experience  in  Europe.  Baedeker's  classic  rule 
of  ten  per  cent  of  the  total  amount  of  the  bill 
seems  strangely  inadequate  when  a  traveler  has 
stayed  only  one  night  at  a  hotel  and  finds  that 
his  bill  is  about  two  dollars.     The  problem  of 


EXPENSES  AND  SUGGESTIONS       225 

dividing  twenty  cents  so  that  every  one  will  be 
satisfied  is  a  task  that  he  would  willingly  turn 
over  to  somebody  else.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
while  there  is  no  arbitrary  rule,  it  does  not  take 
long  to  discover  that  the  pourboire  and  Trink- 
geld  are  fixed  and  permanent  institutions,  as 
solid  in  their  reality  as  the  Credit  Lyonnais  or 
the  Reichsbank.  One  is  expected  to  give  at  least 
something,  even  if  the  service  rendered  has  been 
merely  nominal.  The  French  and  German 
systems  of  coinage,  with  their  5 -centime  and  10- 
pjennig  pieces,  fit  in  so  conveniently  to  the 
European  standards  of  tipping.  Judging  from 
our  experience,  the  tourist  will  be  most  quickly 
at  ease  who  observes  the  custom  as  it  is  practiced 
by  the  inhabitants  of  the  country,  and  then 
makes  his  own  scale  of  tips  slightly  larger. 
Foreigners  are  expected  to  be  a  little  more 
liberal.  The  quality  of  service  received  will 
ordinarily  more  than  compensate  for  this 
slight  increase.  In  Valence,  where  we  stayed 
only  one  night,  the  bill,  including  chamber, 
dinner,  and  breakfast,  amounted  to  twenty 
francs  for  two  people.  Our  tips  were  itemized 
as  follows: 


226      EUROPE  FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

FRANCS  CENTIMES 

Garcon 50 

Femme  de  chambre 50 

Valet  de  chambre 50 

Concierge 1 

Garage 25 

Total 2  75 

If  there  was  an  ascenseur  in  the  hotel  the 
elevator  boy  never  looked  insulted  when  we  gave 
him  ten  or  fifteen  centimes.  If  extra  service 
was  rendered,  we  paid  for  it  accordingly.  This 
scale  of  tipping  secured  us  good  service  in  the 
small  provincial  towns.     In  the  larger  places 

A  A 

the  maitre  de  Vhotel  (head  waiter)  plays  a  more 
important  role  and  ranks  in  tipping  dignity 
with  the  concierge.  In  Italy  the  equivalent  of 
four  cents  per  person  would  be  considered 
liberal  in  most  restaurants.  In  Germany, 
where  the  rise  in  cost  of  living  is  more  noticeable 
than  in  France,  the  item  of  tipping  was  slightly 
larger.  Austria  gave  us  the  most  difficulty. 
Here  the  system  is  more  complicated.  The 
Speise-traeger  who  brings  you  food,  the  Piccolo 
who  ministers  to  your  thirst,  the  Zahl-kellner 
who  receives  payment  for  the  bill,  all  expect 
their  contribution  of  hellers.  These  dignitaries 
were  ordinarily  satisfied  with  tips  of  twenty, 


EXPENSES  AND  SUGGESTIONS      227 

ten,  and  forty  hellers  in  the  order  named. 
The  value  of  hellers  and  centimes  is  so  nearly 
equal  that  it  was  not  confusing  to  pass  from 
the  Austrian  to  the  French  system  of  coinage. 

The  largest  single  item  of  expense  was  of 
course  the  cost  of  transportation,  which  always 
depends  on  the  size  and  weight  of  the  car. 
The  cost  of  ocean  transportation  for  an  ordinary 
four-seated  touring  car  would  run  from  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  to  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  dollars.  To  this  amount  must  be 
added  fifty  dollars  to  cover  cost  of  boxing.  In 
our  case,  since  the  car  was  purchased  abroad,  it 
was  necessary  to  pay  a  duty  of  thirty  per  cent 
on  the  original  cost,  minus  the  agent's  commis- 
sion of  twenty-five  per  cent. 


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